Philomela
by ulstergirl
Summary: Ned meets someone else... and though he tries to deny it, what he has with Nancy isn't over. When she's drawn into a new case, despite himself, Ned can't stay away.
1. Chapter 1

**Note: This story contains adult language, adult situations, and violence; if the prospect of that upsets you, please don't read.**

* * *

"We need to talk."

Ned saw Nancy's face fall, just a little, during the very brief glance he gave her. He was finding it hard enough to make himself speak; he had found it almost impossible to get on the elevator in the lobby of her father's building.

"Okay," she said, giving him a smile that managed to crack his heart. She swept her long hair off her shoulder and glanced over at her coat. "Meet you at the coffee shop in ten minutes? I just have something I need to finish up here."

"Sure," he agreed, holding her gaze for just a second longer. He could tell she wasn't sleeping; whenever he called, she was always tracking down another lead, always swearing she'd call him back. Always.

But it was still hard.

Carson Drew happened to be walking through the reception area as Ned made his way back to the elevator, and the man was positively glowing with pent-up energy, his keen eyes sparkling, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal bare forearms. "Ned! Good to see you."

"Good to see you too, sir," Ned replied, shaking his hand, forcing himself to meet Nancy's father's eyes. "How's the case?"

"Oh," Carson said, drawing in a long breath, smiling. "Oh, it's a beast. And I'm loving it." He tapped Ned on the shoulder. "I know I've been monopolizing a lot of Nancy's time, but she's been invaluable. It's like having a spare brain in the office. We're like this." He twisted his index and middle fingers together.

To his horror, before Ned could gracefully excuse himself from the conversation, Nancy walked out of the inner office, pulling her hair out from beneath the collar of her jacket, flashing him a slightly nervous smile. "Ready?"

"Sure."

Carson had been drawn into a racketeering case, after the state's attorney's office had had the lawyer set up a suspect client. He was going to turn state's evidence in the case, but he had also, due to his close association with the case and his knowledge of their activities, become involved in the case.

"Involved" was quite the understatement. "Involved" was also quite the understatement when it came to Nancy's participation. For the past two months their conversations had never been longer than five minutes.

He hadn't been counting until he'd met Anna.

Ned hadn't been planning on telling Nancy any of that, but it spilled out, when she was sitting across from him, the color slowly draining out of her beautiful face, her mocha slowly going cold.

"I care about you. You know that."

"But you don't even want to try working this out?" He could see the tears gleaming in her eyes, and had to look away when she swiped at them, the moisture revealing the dark circles under her eyes, the ones she'd tried to hide with concealer.

"When's the last time we talked? Really talked?"

She dragged her hand through her hair, pulling it away from her face, letting it fall in a tousled curtain. "So that's your answer?"

"You and I both know that until this case is over..."

He could tell that she didn't want to be crying, and that she was entirely unable to stop. "It'll be six months," she said, and her voice was wavering.

"I just... I feel like we need to take a break."

"You mean you want to be free to date this girl you just met." Her face was flushing. "Ned, I love you. I'm sorry, I'll make more time. I will."

He shook his head. "I don't even know how many times you've said that," he said quietly. "I know you mean it. And we both know... Nan, I'm just, I can't do this right now. And I think if you're honest with yourself, you'll see that it's not working for you either. I'm just holding you back."

"Ned, you aren't," she said, desperation in her voice, and they both heard it. She cleared her throat and looked down at her cold coffee. "I'm sorry. You... you want to take a break."

He nodded. "And maybe, six months from now... I don't know."

"Yeah," she said quietly. "It is easier when you don't promise anything, isn't it."

He felt his throat thickening. She looked so defenseless, so heartbroken, and he dug out his wallet to leave cash for the check before he made a mistake, changed his mind.

"I do care about you."

"You can't," she whispered. "If you did, it wouldn't be like this."

* * *

In a month, he hadn't stopped wondering about her, worrying about her. He'd spent years doing it; expecting to get over it so quickly had been unrealistic. He was seeing Anna and it wasn't really working, but it was working enough. She was beautiful, calm and self-assured, and rarely pressed him for anything. It was enough, for her, that he was the best catch of the guys she knew. It was enough, for him, that she was beautiful and calm and didn't make any demands on him.

And she wasn't Nancy, but he hadn't expected her to be.

Tina Howard, twelve years old, was reported missing three months after Ned broke up with Nancy. Tina had been staying after school for flute lessons, and at some point between four and five o'clock that Tuesday, that gray Tuesday, she had been taken, vanished.

He saw Tina's parents on television, pleading that anyone who knew anything about their daughter should come forward, and he thought of Nancy. Thought of her with her lower lip trembling, tears in her eyes, quiet devastation written on her pale cheeks.

And he didn't call her. Because he knew the trial preparation was still going on, and he knew that in a few months they might try to start again, but it would always end this way. It would always end with him sleeping alone.

* * *

She ended up calling him, though, suggesting that they meet at the Starbucks near his apartment, and, not knowing what to do, not knowing what to say, he agreed.

"I just wanted to catch up." She smiled at him and it was like no time at all had passed. He smiled back.

After Anna he'd started dating Cindy, who, he'd discovered the night before, was very good in bed. Even so, when he looked at Nancy, he felt that same old protectiveness rise up in him, the desire for more, more of her, more of her time and attention.

He was still fond of her. He knew he always would be.

"You didn't say we couldn't be friends."

"I didn't," he agreed, with a little smile. "We are still friends. Always will be."

She grinned. "I'm glad to hear you say that."

"So how's the case going?"

She widened her eyes at him, all false wounded innocence. "What are you talking about?"

"Isn't that why you wanted to see me?" He maneuvered the stirrer through his cup's lid, looking at it instead of her face. "I seem to remember that seventy-five percent of our time was spent talking about cases."

She made a face at him, this one more sincere. "Don't start," she begged.

"I wasn't," he lied. "I'm sorry. What's been going on?"

"Eating, sleeping, and breathing this case," she sighed. "I really need to take a break."

"Is that an offer?" He glanced up and met her eyes, and regardless of what he'd spent half the night doing to Cindy, he felt that spark again. She was the first to break their gaze, toying with a sugar packet instead.

"I don't know." She smiled. "I guess I was hoping that you had some free time, maybe?"

He was quiet for a minute. "To catch up, yeah," he said quietly. "But... what I said still stands."

"You don't want to be with me until the case is over."

He gave her a pained smile. "There's always gonna be a case," he said. "It took a long time for me to realize that. I guess it's that... I will always be your friend, Nan. I will. But I can't see a place for myself in your life."

She kept her head down and rubbed at her eyes, as though he hadn't known her long enough to tell she was brushing away tears. Dark patches under her eyes. "I didn't... call you about that. I'm thinking about taking another case."

He knew it before she said it. He knew it and the fear was pricking up his spine before she opened her mouth.

"Tina Howard's parents called me, they say they have nowhere else to go."

"It's been more than forty-eight hours." His voice sounded harsh, even to him; he cleared his throat. "Nan, it would be hard even if you didn't have your dad's case going on."

"I know." She started ripping bits off the sugar packet, her voice softening to something conciliatory. "Believe me, Bess and George have already said all this."

"Even if you don't believe me, believe them." His brows drew together in concern. "Nancy, I mean it. Leave this to the cops."

"I can't," she said softly.

"Nan—"

"You didn't hear her voice," Nancy said. "I have to try."

He put his hand on hers. "Be careful."

"I will," she promised, and smiled at him.

He made his excuses and they walked outside, his fingertips still glowing from the warmth of her touch. "Seriously. Please don't do anything dangerous."

"Maybe I wouldn't, if..."

She softened the words with a smile, and he answered with one of his own. "Don't try to give me a guilt trip," he chastised her. "Because you're reckless by yourself, twice as much with me around. Don't even try to deny it."

She rested her hand on his upper arm, standing on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his cheek. "Behave yourself, Ned."

"Are you?"

She didn't protest innocence this time. "Eat, sleep, and breathe, remember? You were right about that, at least." She glanced down. "I have a suspicion you'd be too hard to get over, Nickerson. So I haven't even tried."

He suddenly found it hard to swallow. "Take care of yourself. I mean it."

She smiled. "I'll do my best."

Her hand slid down his arm and when they parted he didn't look back.

He hated himself for that, later.

That night, after Cindy had gone home, he steepled his fingers behind his head and watched the blue light from the television play over the ceiling, and tried to remember why it had seemed like such a good idea to leave her. Anna had been pleasant enough, Cindy had a mouth like a sailor and a tongue like a porn star, and he was sure there'd be another girl, another girl. And that none of them would be like her, ever again.

He squeezed his eyes tight shut and dry-washed his face with his palms. Because he did want someone to settle down with and there would always be another reason she couldn't. And he knew he was right, and he knew she knew it too. She was special. Just not for him.

Even though the thought of her with anyone else, the knowledge that she hadn't found someone else yet, made him feel strangely light.

He closed his eyes, a small smile on his face.

Three days later she was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

When Hannah called and asked, hesitantly, with very careful distance in her voice, if Nancy had happened to spend the night at Ned's place, he knew. He heard himself suggesting Bess or George as better candidates; he heard himself reassuring Hannah, telling her that he was sure Nancy was fine, safe, no problem.

When he walked into the breakroom for another cup of coffee just before his lunch break, he saw the Howards on television, hugging their daughter close to them, thanking God and the Chicago PD and Nancy Drew for getting her back for them.

He called Hannah back, asking if she had just been with Tina, but Hannah said no, that they had found Nancy's car at O'Hare, her cell phone inside, purse locked in with her keys.

And he knew.

He called Carson, ignoring his scheduled conference call, his stomach twisting. "We have to," he began, demanding, "we have to find the guy who kidnapped Tina, he might still have her."

"He does," Carson answered, and he was too calm, too fucking calm. "Tina just told me. It was a trade. Nancy gave herself up so Tina could go free."

* * *

"Nancy was kidnapped when she was five."

"She never told me that," Ned admitted, playing with the coffee cup. He was too wired on nerves to drink it; he just needed something to do with his hands.

"She didn't know," Carson admitted. "I was working on—" he gave a dark chuckle, "a mob case, actually. When I was still in the SA's office. One of the low-level guys managed to smuggle her out of after-school and grab her. The cops were already looking when the shithead actually pulled over at a gas station and there she was, in plain sight."

Ned blinked once, shaken not only by Carson's sudden and unexpected profanity but the cold vehemence behind it.

"Three hours. She was missing for three hours. Now she's been gone twenty-four."

Ned's jaw tightened. Half their time was gone.

"Is there anything I can do?"

Carson's smile was humorless. "Pray," he answered. "That I find her in one piece."

* * *

Ned dreamed of chain-link, dim slicked pools, the wail of sirens, and knew he had just taken all the crime scenes he had ever seen, on any police procedural or in person, and had made them into one. Then he dreamed that he came home and found her in his bed, and in sheer relief they had sex, not the usual false starts, not the compromises or technicalities that would leave her guiltless. His thumb glanced over her teeth and she rose under him, laughing, her body twining around his.

He woke and it was like it had happened. Not some stupid composite crime scene, not Nancy with her eyes wide and scared and her hair tangled down her back, tied to a chair.

He kept hoping that whoever had taken Tina, whoever had Nancy was a pedophile, that the vivacious allure of a woman in her early twenties would disgust him, would keep his hands off her. Tina had survived for days. And Nancy had been in tight spots before, she'd be keeping an eye on things, she'd be watching for a way to get out. They'd find her tucked in a blanket on the shores of Lake Michigan, feet turning blue from cold but otherwise unharmed, laughing off their concern.

He was always so angry when she did that, angry that she didn't take them seriously. A few times he had wanted, so badly, for her to just break down, to admit that what she'd gone through had managed to break through that calm self-assurance she kept around her like flimsy armor. And then he thought of the very few times she had ever broken down in his arms, and the satisfaction of comforting her wasn't enough to make up for how much scarier that was.

_I'll take it all back_, he swore, turning over. Two missed calls from Cindy. He hadn't bothered telling her, but half the time he didn't need to.

_I'll take it all back if she comes back okay._

He dreamed of chain-link, of plastic warped and cracked and discolored from exposure, high like disposable flowerpots. He dreamed of rust, needles, freshly-turned earth, the ground sinking underfoot like cemetery grass.

* * *

"How many more are there?"

Tina Howard was tiny, with pale hair and mildly green eyes, freckles dusting her upturned nose. She was also chalk-pale, with her mother standing watchful guard over her, like her daughter's mere presence in a police station would be enough to put her in danger again, the inherent danger of grimy desks, stale coffee and sidearms too powerful to ignore.

Ned was trying to tell himself that at twelve he wouldn't have been very patient either, but Carson, sometime in the last five minutes, had picked up speed, quickly rounded that corner, and now seemed to be on the verge of picking up one of the clipboards hanging on the wall and breaking Tina's jaw with it.

He was kind of fascinated by it, in a detached sort of way. Unflappable Carson Drew with towering rage gleaming in his eyes.

Officer Beck sighed, tapping another key, and another face appeared, provoking another flinch from Mrs. Howard and another crazed glance from Carson. He wanted to be the first to see some hint of recognition in Tina's face. Ned was pretty sure Carson would, at that point, grab the closest firearm and, through sheer force of will, teleport himself to the scumbag's last known address.

"Is there anything else you can remember?" Officer Callaway tapped his pen against his notebook, tilting his face to peer at Tina, one foot tapping very quietly against his chair leg. No one was able to stay calm around Carson for very long; Ned was only keeping himself together because Carson's rage, the deep well of his horror was worse than his own. Nancy was only his ex-girlfriend.

Ned glanced away, at that. She was more; they all knew it. He had been a fool to deny it.

Tina bit her lip and shook her head.

For thirty minutes Ned had been unable to look directly at Tina. She had been held for days. He didn't know, didn't ask, and they didn't talk about it, the cops and the shrink who occasionally wandered through, a cloud of curly brown hair, battered leather briefcase, the smell of cigarettes. He wondered, sometimes, if anyone knew, if they had all been too afraid to ask her, because it was far better to imagine. Whatever had happened to her, it was probably more horrible.

As was whatever Nancy was going through, right now, as they wasted time, as Tina fidgeted with the bracelet hanging loose on her too-slender wrist, fingers skipping lightly over the wristpad at the keyboard. Nancy was out there, and if it took an entire week, an entire fucking month, he'd be here to make sure Tina never slept, not until she picked the guy out, not until Nancy was home.

"Let's go through it again. His car was blue, the seats were gray, it was rusting. He didn't drive for that long before you got to his house. There was a dog chained up in the backyard. There were—"

Tina's mother stepped forward, her eyes brimming, mouth thinned and trembling. Tina was shrinking in on herself, pulling her arms in tight, looking away. "Can't you see? She's not ready for this right now."

She put her hand on her daughter's shoulder and Ned wanted to say it, wanted to shout it, until she cringed and backed down. _Someone else's daughter had to give up everything so yours could go free, and this is the least you owe her, to look through fucking pictures instead of cocooning in her room and waiting for the blood to stop._

Officer Beck hit the arrow key and Tina's hand closed into a fist.

"Him."

* * *

Nancy had been gone three days, and that was much less than Tina, and that seemed to be okay. Tina was okay. She wasn't perfect; she was fragile, thin like her captivity had scraped away some part of her, jumpy, but she was whole. So Nancy would be all right.

Ned wasn't supposed to be involved, in the real recovery, so he went back to Nancy's father's house and found Hannah in the kitchen, baking like she was feeding an army. All Nancy's favorite foods. He sat at the bar as the light slowly died and listened to Hannah patter about how after this, truly, really, she couldn't let Nancy do this kind of thing anymore. Her heart couldn't take it. _One day her luck will run out_, Hannah said, flipping the sheet of pastry dough and going over it a few more times with the rolling pin, _but just thank God, thank God it wasn't today._

Ned smiled and felt his stomach do a slow flip.

_I swear, if you bring her home, I'll take it all back._

He knew that she still loved him, that she still wanted them to be together, and they could work through the rest of it. He just needed her back. That was the most important part.

Another hour went by without a car pulling up in the driveway, without a call from Carson. Ned and Hannah settled on the couch, Hannah with her knitting, until finally, finally there was the sound of a car and a knock at the door. Hannah's grin was almost painful to see, but it slipped off her face just as quickly when she saw who was there.

"I'm sorry. They're not back yet."

"I came as soon as I could," Bess said, unwinding her scarf. "I thought I saw—"

And then she turned her head and saw Ned standing there, and he braced himself for it just before her eyes narrowed. She walked over to him and punched him in the chest, pulling it a little but not much, and there was more anger in her eyes than not.

"You asshole."

"Bess," Hannah clucked, but Bess didn't heed her at all.

"You broke up with her just to sleep with someone else?"

Ned tamped down his burst of anger. "If that's what she said... I think you and I both know there was more to it than that."

Bess crossed her arms, giving him a dismissive shrug. Her face was shuttered, cold. "I can't think of a reason more important to a prick."

"Bess," Hannah said, this time more firmly. Bess shot her an apologetic glance before cutting her eyes at Ned again.

"You here to say you're sorry?"

Ned just nodded, and that didn't help, but he hadn't really expected it to.

* * *

When Carson did finally call, Bess had warmed only slightly, and Ned could feel it closing on him again.

"She—she wasn't there," Carson said, tiredly. "We'll talk about it when I get there."

Hannah didn't ask; she told Ned the guest room would be ready for him, and then she made a pot of coffee to wait it out. When George came, the four of them stared blankly at the television for a while, and George's punch wasn't nearly as dismissible.

"At least you're here now."

The implication was enough. He had to stop himself from wondering about it, as Hannah flipped through the basic cable channels, pausing at cooking shows, sharks snapping at scuba divers, reenactments of crimes past. They fidgeted, each, doing a circuit of the kitchen, excusing themselves to wander through the house, away from the awful charged atmosphere of that quiet living room.

He found Bess standing in the middle of Nancy's room, during one such circuit, and he wasn't surprised at all.

"What does he mean, she's not there," Bess said, and her face was wet, and he hugged her for a long, long time, just feeling her breathe.

He didn't want to sleep, but when he dozed off three hours later, he had nightmares of cemetery grass.

* * *

The police found three graves in Marcus Hazel's backyard. The morning news broadcasts—they were on every television in the Drew household, sometimes different stations, overlapping and gnashing, bleating in protest, accompanied by the syncopated beat of helicopter blades—showed fluttering yellow police tape, uniformed examiners and investigators in blue coveralls crouching next to obscured mounds of dirt.

Hannah's movements were broken, stumbling. She took a bucket and mop and began to methodically clean all the uncarpeted floors.

The police had assured Carson, and he had assured them all, when he had finally stumbled in, four o'clock in the morning, looking five years older, that Nancy wasn't in any of the graves, they were all too decomposed to be her, but she wasn't in the house, there was no sign of her. The girls he had taken, all slender things, aged skeletons bruised by the dirt, had been tortured for a week or more before their deaths. Tina wasn't unbruised, but she would be all right, eventually.

But all Ned heard was that Nancy wasn't there.

"He has to know where she is."

Carson nodded wearily, rubbing his eyelids. He couldn't have managed more than three hours of sleep before he was sipping coffee again, staring at the phone, wondering who he could finesse or threaten or curse to find another lead.

"He's gonna say she escaped," Carson sighed. "He'll say he doesn't know and unless we find something in that house, there's nothing I can say to contradict it. And no... no corpus delecti."

Ned's throat was sour with bile at the thought of it.

"What'll happen to him? To her?"

"I'll see if I can talk to him, talk to the state's attorney's office, cut him a deal. Possibility of parole in 50 years, when the kids'll be able to outrun his walker." Carson snorted. "Babykillers don't last very long, anyway."

* * *

Ned's boss was calling him, and there was nothing he could do, not until they somehow found another lead. He felt strange, guilty, doing it, but he had to go back to work, while Carson found his way through the red tape and wrangled himself an interview with Hazel, while the cops grilled him, wheedled him, played him.

On his lunch break Ned did a little research. Hazel had a record, picked up for shoplifting, breaking and entering, trespassing. He could see the man, mouth set and twitching under his beard, watching the houses where little girls lived.

Nancy should've been safe. Nancy should've been home now.

When Cindy called he ignored it, passing by the lunchroom. Three women and a man were seated at the tables, faces turned toward the television. The band of police tape fluttered. His backyard in a chain-link fence.

He closed his eyes.

No. Not anymore.

* * *

Carson Drew had, a long time ago, been someone else. Before Catherine, before Nancy. There had been a time when all his life was legal precedents and Supreme Court cases, when he had been able to go out on the weekends, have a few beers, blow off steam, just relax for a while. Then he had met Catherine, then the nurse had placed his daughter in his arms, and his entire life had changed, just like that, irrevocably.

He knew then that he would die for her, that he would kill for her, this little squirming bundle, big blue eyes in a tiny flushed face. She was everything.

The loss of Catherine, too soon after, had changed him again.

Nancy had been gone over seventy-two hours, and Carson was seething, shaking with rage, because if he didn't, he was going to lose his mind entirely. The prospect was beginning to appeal to him.

Hazel's lawyer was some wet-behind-the-ears public defender, his briefcase still shiny, his words still hesitant and measured. Hazel himself sat in his prison coverall, shackled to the table. His progress through the system had been refreshingly short. Three skeletons in a suburban backyard could do that.

"Tina Howard told us that you accepted Nancy and let her go."

"Stupidest thing I ever did," Hazel agreed, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jawline. A newly-scabbed cut ran down his right cheek. His lawyer grew wide-eyed, loud with protests, but Hazel pointedly ignored him. "Tina and me were just getting started."

"So you admit that you had her."

Hazel's gaze drifted away from Carson, touching on windowsills, the gleaming baton at the guard's side, the legal pad in front of his court-appointed attorney. "Had her," he repeated, eyes narrowing. "That sounds kinda incriminating."

Carson let only his index fingernail dig into his palm. "You want any kind of deal, any time off your sentence at all, you have to tell me where Nancy is."

"You get that for me in writing?" Hazel finally looked up at Carson's eyes, and he saw nothing there. No remorse, no interest, nothing. Nothing more.

"Let me try that again," Carson said, leaning in, holding Hazel's gaze. "I have a lot of friends in here. I don't know what you did with Nancy, but I want her back in one piece, and if I have to break every goddamned bone in your body, I will."

Hazel's face opened and he started laughing, barking brays of it, fingertips drumming on the table. Carson's heart turned to ice as he watched the spectacle, heard the genuine hilarity in Hazel's voice.

"Do what you want but she ain't gonna be in one piece."

Before Carson even realized it he had surged forward and punched Hazel directly in the face. The other man's head snapped back, rebounding off the back of the chair, and Carson shook his bruised hand, eyes gleaming.

The legal aide, clearly torn, kept glancing at the pointedly disinterested guard. He offered Hazel a tissue, glaring hard at Carson. "You can't do this. You can't get away with this."

"You tell him to talk or I'll choke the last breath out of him."

Hazel's chuckles finally tapered off, as he dabbed at his bleeding nose. "No need to make threats," he drawled, his chains sounding and echoing in the small room as he moved his shackled hands. "I sold her."

"Sold her?" Carson's hands were shaking, and he couldn't feel his knuckle anymore.

"Yeah, y'see," Hazel began, leaning forward, his eyes still gleaming, "there's been a price on your head for a couple months now, but the price on her head? Even higher. 'Cause they can get ransom for her. They know you'll pay anything to get your precious little baby girl back. And when I caught her snooping around in my neighborhood, that was it." He clapped his hands.

"So she didn't exchange herself for Tina?"

"Oh, she offered to," Hazel said. "She did. But things were getting too hot, and if she'd found me, I knew the cops'd probably be close behind. That's the only reason I let Tina go."

"So where is she," Carson asked through clenched teeth.

"I don't know."

When he could think clearly again, Carson settled back into his chair, watching Hazel gasp his breath back, clutching at his battered face. His attorney was gesticulating angrily at the still-bored guard.

"Who has her."

"You know who has her," Hazel mumbled through his split lip. "Who do you think would have her."

All the blood drained out of Carson's face, as Hazel caught sight of him and started chuckling again, a dirty, rusty sound.

"God, no," Carson whispered, going still. "Oh my God, no."


	3. Chapter 3

"Something must be wrong with me."

"Oh?" Ned had felt irritable the whole way home, as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel while pulling through a fast-food drive-thru, as he watched the slow progression of brake lights. He wasn't in the mood for a confrontation, and as he watched Cindy slowly untangle and stretch her legs, still half-hidden in the shadows at the front steps of his apartment building, he grew less sure that she was going to give him one.

"I seem to suddenly find playing hard-to-get sexy," she admitted, gazing at him through her lashes.

"Welcome to my life," he said, still watching her, with a hint of a smile on his face.

The tension had to loose somewhere. Cindy knew that he'd dated Nancy, everyone did, but the thought of talking about it, of saying Nancy's name to her, made his skin crawl, and besides, Cindy wasn't one for talking. She didn't need explanations or want them. For once he was grateful, relieved for it, for the speechless demand of her lips and the angle of her against him, all knowing glances and lingering kisses. He lost himself in her her until he wasn't sure where he was, who he was anymore, until he could fall from exhaustion to sleep without passing any of the cruel stations between.

When he woke at 3 a.m. she was gone, and he stumbled out of bed, driven by the drinks they'd shared before tumbling into his bedroom together. He drew a glass of water in the kitchen, still weaving a little on his feet, bone-tired and calm.

And then the thought of Nancy came back to him, and Ned made himself put the glass down instead of smashing it in the sink, pressed his palms against his temples and just breathed.

He wasn't betraying her by taking a few hours to himself. He wasn't. And they weren't dating anymore; he wasn't cheating on her.

He just wasn't sure why it almost felt like he was.

He sighed and turned the light off, grabbing his cell phone as he went back to his bedroom, idly activating the screen to see if Cindy had left him a message, something coy and wicked.

He saw an unopened text from a number he didn't know.

He closed his eyes, then, for a long moment, his cell against his chest, then swallowed a huge yawn and opened it.

201931

Ned blinked at it a few times. Too long for a zip code, too short for a phone number. Probably some stupid spam ad that hadn't entirely come through. He shrugged and put his phone down on the bedside table, bundling himself under the covers that still smelled like sex.

Forty-five minutes later he jerked awake suddenly.

"Oh, oh God," he mumbled, diving for the phone.

* * *

The bored man who answered the phone at the Chicago PD had no intention of doing a damned thing until Ned invoked Carson and Nancy Drew. As soon as he got off the phone with the man, Ned's impatience towering in him, boiling in his throat, he called Carson.

"I think she sent me a message."

"What did it say?" Carson went from sleepy to wide-awake in seconds.

"It's just numbers."

"I'll meet you—"

"Police station."

Ned washed up rapidly before he left, his hands shaking from the adrenaline. The scent of his sheets made him feel sick, now. His jawline was still shadowy with a day's growth of stubble, and he scrubbed his fingertips against it as he pulled into the parking lot at the station. Carson, his face sallow with exhaustion, in jeans—Ned could count on one hand the number of times he had seen Nancy's father in jeans—was pacing at the door. He reached for Ned's cell phone before Ned was even fully out of the car.

Carson blinked a few times at the numbers, after Ned pulled up the text message for him. "What is this," he muttered. "Are you sure it's her?"

Ned took a breath. "I think so," he said.

"But why..."

Ned read the unspoken question in Carson's face. "Maybe my number was the first one she could remember," he said, "and she couldn't afford the time to place a call. It's innocuous enough to look like an accident if the owner of the phone sees it. And she can't exactly say 'Here I am,' even though that is what she's saying."

"But, where the hell is she."

"We figure out the code or we trace the cell."

The entire time they were trying to figure it out, Ned felt like he had slammed a pack of energy drinks. He had wasted that time, not knowing that she had texted him, and he was _sure_ it was her. They went through the combinations and settled on U.S. Route 20, mapping the address as another officer was tasked to use the GPS locator on the phone.

Carson rode in the lead vehicle, sirens blazing until they were within a mile, but Ned followed in his own car, watching the blue dawn creep up from the horizon. When he saw even a sliver of space in his battery icon, indicating that it wasn't fully charged, he savagely plugged in his car charger, slotting in the connector. His heart sped up whenever he glanced at his phone. What if she was able to text him again, or, God forbid, _call._

But the adrenaline made his hands shake. He had to bleed it off somehow.

Bess answered on the second ring, and when he told her that they _might_ have received a text from Nancy, she let out a startled cry. "Can you call George?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah," she said. "Oh God. When you walk in she'll be karate-chopping people left and right and..."

"Yeah," Ned agreed, his voice shaking a little.

* * *

The warehouse was empty.

Well, the warehouse was empty of people.

A few of the fluorescent lights were still on, and had been on for a while. A pot of coffee was still warm.

Ned was shaking with anger at himself when he realized that the margin had been so close, that his delay had meant not finding her.

They found a wooden chair, in a room with a concrete floor. Blood drops nearby. Someone had discovered that she had stolen a phone, managed to get a message out, had tried to get her to say who it had been. Maybe she had admitted it; maybe she hadn't. Either way, she was gone. There were no tell-tale threads caught in splinters on the chair, no note written in dust on a windowsill, no discarded necklace. Nothing but that blood on the floor and Ned's certainty.

Carson and Ned and the cops looked at each other.

"If they know she sent you a message," Walters said, "they've ditched the phone by now. But that's the best lead we have, until they contact you."

The cops left a few technicians in the building gathering evidence, and before he left, Ned took a deep breath, trying to imagine her, trying with all his will to feel her as she had been there. Scared and waiting for him to ride in on a white horse, to save her from all this. And he hadn't come.

He was alone in his car when he finally let the rage and frustration out, when he finally let himself scream.

* * *

"Mr. Drew."

The police had set up the recorder as soon as Hazel had confessed. Carson wasn't surprised to see that the number was registering as unknown.

"Who is this?" he asked, hardly expecting an answer.

"One million," the voice replied. "You will find a letter in today's mail with a bank routing number. Forty-eight hours."

The call ended.

A million dollars.

Carson remembered the good old days. Duffel bags full of unmarked non-consecutive bills, trash cans and dumpsters and public parks, dye packets and police surveillance.

There hadn't even been any threats. And Carson knew the group who had to have her. A million, while it would be nice, seemed low to him. Certain aspects of their operation did that in a month.

A million dollars.

None of that mattered, if it was what it took to keep his daughter safe.

It was later, when Carson was at the state's attorney's office, discussing associates of the men who had to have her and where they might have taken her, that a secretary walked over to Carson from the breakroom. She was a few years shy of middle-aged, the kind who would take her cell into the breakroom with her while she caught up on the soap operas, and she held that phone out to Carson, an indescribable look on her face.

"It's for you," she said.

Carson took the phone, his stomach immediately clenching into an impossible knot. "Hello?"

"Leave the room, please," the voice on the other end requested.

Carson walked to the stairwell, using the opportunity to consult the phone's function menu. He located the Record button and pressed it, praying that it would be silent. Instead, a loud tone squealed in the headset. Carson grimaced. "Sorry," he said. "Still there?"

The voice was mild on the surface, but Carson could hear the gloating, the anger under it. "Play games if you want."

"Not going to play games," Carson said. On the ground floor he headed for the side doors. "I'm working on getting the money."

"That's good," said the voice. "Very good. We just need to come to a little... understanding, about what that money is for."

"A ransom payment," Carson replied, through clenched teeth. "You get the money and you let her go and if a single hair on her head—"

The man laughed. "I think it's so unbecoming to lie, don't you? Besides, if we've had to rough her up a bit, that mean you don't want her back?"

Carson clenched his jaw so tight that it ached. "Just know that any damage you do to her will be revisited on you tenfold."

"That the official story, Carson?" He chuckled. "As to your assumption, no. The mil isn't a ransom payment."

"Then what is it?"

"A good faith investment. The mil... that just means she'll keep her fingers and toes. But she... she's staying with us. Because the money, that is nice... but we're getting pretty fond of her, here."

Carson felt like he was about to explode. He couldn't see anything before him. His universe had contracted to the sound of that voice on the other end of the line, and the terrible pounding of his own heart.

"What'll it take for you to let her go? Another million?"

"What are you _willing_ for it to take?" The voice paused. "To trade yourself for her?"

"Yes," Carson responded immediately. "Yes. Name a place and I'll be there."

The man clucked his tongue. "That's very touching to hear, but we need you where you are. We need something from you. You need something from us. And as long as you keep to your end of the bargain, everything will be fine, Mr. Drew.

"The day a unilateral not-guilty verdict is returned, you'll get her back."

Carson sank to his knees. He didn't see the glances from the pedestrians, the sidewalk under him, anything. There was nothing else. "You want me to throw the trial."

"Of course," the voice said, mildly surprised. "Of course. And, let me say, I was very pleased when I found out she'd been helping you. That... that will prove invaluable."

Carson swallowed hard. "Let me talk to her," he said hoarsely.

"She's not here," the voice said.

"I'm not going to—"

"Don't lie," the voice said. "Don't pretend that you require proof of life. A mil to keep her safe, and not-guilty to get her back.

"Do we have a deal."

Carson closed his eyes hard. "Yes," he whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

The police found the cell phone in a ditch beside Route 20.

Ned didn't realize how much he had been hoping against hope that the idiot had kept it with him, until they told him.

"Any numbers? Any clues? _Anything_?"

The detective scowled at Ned. Around them, life was going on as usual. Detectives were sauntering across the bullpen carrying styrofoam cups of bad coffee, calling jokes to each other. Acting like absolutely nothing was wrong. If Ned had to listen to it for another five minutes, he wouldn't be responsible for what he did.

It felt like a nightmare. It all felt like a nightmare. Raw wind and cemetery grass.

"It was damaged. We're working on it. In the meantime, why don't you go do something productive? We'll let Mr. Drew know as soon as we have anything new."

"She's _in trouble_," Ned said, his jaw tight. They didn't understand. It was Ned's fault and every second she spent _gone_, hurting, alone, that was on his head.

"Do you really think we're just, what, pulling cats out of trees instead of looking for her?" The detective rose to his full height. "We are doing _everything in our power._ I suggest you go cool down and think about this before you do something you'll regret."

Ned took a slow, deep breath. "Can you at least tell me where you found the phone."

He was late for work, and once he made it in to the office he couldn't concentrate. He kept his own cell phone practically against his skin, so he would feel if it vibrated with a call or message. Even so, he checked it several times an hour. He barely noticed the irritated glances his coworkers were sending his way. Nothing they could possibly want to say would be worth missing the call from her.

And she would call.

_Unless they've already_—

He refused to think the words. No. She was okay. She would find another way to contact them. She was _okay._

He wasn't going to think about the alternative.

A small part of him, a small part that had sparked to tenuous life when he realized that Nancy had texted him—_him, _not Bess or George or Hannah or her father, _him_—was imagining her as she had been, blue eyes laughing up into his, all that had been between them for the past few months wiped away. Some small part of her still apparently trusted him, came to him for protection.

_And he had let it slip through his fucking fingers._

If—

Ned snarled to himself. Not if. Not _if._

When he found her, though, he would deserve it, would deserve it a thousand times over if she railed at him, if she blamed him for what had happened to her. For all he knew, there had been all the time in the world and she had been waiting, sure he would come for her, sure he would save her.

And nothing was going to wipe it away, not that blood on the floor, not that seductive impulse to find out what it was like to be with someone who _wasn't her_, who wasn't rushing off to seek another clue, find a connection for another case. He had craved the kind of girl who went to some job she half-hated, who had seen a movie in the past three months that hadn't been interrupted by a phone call or an epiphany, whose dinner dates weren't a ludicrous sham of his trying to hold distracted attention.

He couldn't remember the last time he was the center of her undivided attention. He wasn't sure if he ever truly had been.

_Nancy_.

As soon as he could walk out of work, he did, driving as fast as he dared to where they had found the phone. The sight of the thick long-tangled grass brought a lump to his throat. Cemetery grass. The air tasted wet.

There was no one else, there would never be anyone else as long as he was alive, and if he ever moved on, ever tried to move on again, he would be cursed with that knowledge with every breath he took. He had had her, and he had let her go.

And maybe, maybe, even if he hadn't been such a fool, she would have been taken anyway.

But he owed her. He owed her as much as he could do.

When his fingertips brushed the wet grass, he shuddered.

They had been so close for so long that, every now and then, for the briefest snatches of time, he had almost been able to predict her thoughts, almost able to feel her in his head.

He took a deep breath, looking at it all. The fields around him stretched to the horizon, and with a glance in that direction he could feel the distance of the warehouse, could imagine the way she had felt while she was there. She had been terrified, had to have been terrified, even if it was in some small corner of herself that she tried to keep under wraps and hidden away. He thought of the stars, thought of the way the orange light would burn up the edge of the horizon.

He took another deep breath and, feeling faintly ridiculous, tried to _feel_ her. Until another clue came in, they had nothing left, nothing else.

But it had been so long, so damn long. He had taken it for granted, that easy communion between them, and now—

If it was possible for it to be severed, if it could be, it was now. That slender half-imagined cord was gone as though it had never been. All he could feel was his own desire clamoring in him, making him see her as she was not, as she could not be—as he wanted her to be.

Ned opened his eyes and the sky was a few shades dimmer over him. The grass felt nauseatingly thick under the pads of his fingers. The wind screamed over the land with nothing left to hold it back. He felt it draw his breath away.

He had never felt more desperate in his life.

Maybe the second they found her she would tell him that she never wanted to see him again, that his selfishness had made their history worthless, that his mistake had cost him what he loved most. And he knew now that if she said that, he would make himself walk away, would wait until she had cooled and then beg her for a second chance. Maybe she would never forgive him. Maybe he would never actually forgive himself.

But he had to find her.

And he knew of only one person who _knew_ who had her.

* * *

Carson was unavailable. When Ned admitted that he wasn't calling because he had heard from Nancy, that he had no new leads, then whoever answered his phone told Ned that Carson was unavailable. When he went by the Drew house, Hannah told Ned, looking infinitely weary, that Carson had practically thrown himself bodily into the case he was working with the SA's office, as though finishing it would give him the time and mental energy to find his daughter.

Ned wasn't entirely clear on what the case was; Nancy hadn't talked about specifics too often, just the occasional loose end she was helping tie up. She had relished the complexities, and her father had found her help invaluable. Now he was working alone.

"The wheels of justice are turning quickly for once," the female newscaster reported during the evening news, fixing her glassy stare at the camera. "The Tolani RICO case is now scheduled to begin next week. The State Attorney's office has indicated that they are pursuing the family in relation to several underworld-related activities, including at least four murders in the last five years."

Ned looked up from his microwave dinner to gaze at his television set, his fork held suspended in the air. _Tolani._

He parked half a block away from the house, then checked the garage for Carson Drew's car. He spotted it and thought for a moment about taking the spare key—he knew the hiding place—and letting himself in, but he'd never felt comfortable with that prospect. Especially now. He was surprised he hadn't already seen a cruiser drive by, making sure Carson was safe.

Hannah's eyes were mildly sympathetic when she opened the door to find Ned standing there. "He's working," she said apologetically. "He can't be disturbed."

"This won't take long," Ned promised, and Hannah moved aside with a sigh. Walking into the house was like walking back in time, and the belief that Nancy would come walking down those stairs, dressed for a date with him, was almost visceral in its strength. Ned found the way to Carson's study easily, without having to think about it at all.

The older man's face was pale and drawn when Ned opened his study door. His door was a mass of papers; they spilled onto the facing chair, the floor, the credenza. Carson's hair was rumpled by the progress of his fingers, his shirtsleeves wrinkled and rolled up to his forearms.

When their gazes met, Ned could read the fear there as easily as he could sense his own.

"Ned—"

"I need a name," Ned said, quietly, but his voice was strong, carrying. "Just a name. That's all."

Carson shook his head. "I can't—"

"If you don't tell me," Ned promised, "I'll find it anyway. I'll get a name. And I'll walk in ready to _die_, to get her out of there, because I can't just do nothing. God, it's been too long already," Ned said, his breath catching at the end.

"You want to risk it?"

"What are we risking _now_?" Ned demanded. "They _hurt her_. You know that. Every second she's there could mean more. Just give me a name. Just a name."

Carson swallowed. "They told me," he said, "what it'll take to get her back. This won't—it won't work."

"And you're just going to _trust them_? After what they _did_?"

Carson clenched his jaw hard. He looked like he was almost ready to fly apart.

"Tell me," Ned said, his voice low. "Or I'll go right now and I'll find it myself, and..."

Carson tipped his chin up. "I'm doing _everything_, Ned," he said, his voice firm. "Go out there and do the same."

* * *

Ned promised himself that he would at least call the police before he took that step. They told him that Carson called two or three times a day, and no, they had no further leads. If he found anything they would appreciate knowing about it immediately.

Of course they would.

Not for the first time, he found himself wondering if they were being paid off, if she really was out there just as alone as he feared she was.

Ned placed the other call, then.

An hour later, he was inside a McDonald's, at one of the inner tables, a coffee sitting in front of him. He pushed it an inch to the left, then glanced up.

Brady Moretti was one of Ned's Omega Chi brothers, and while he had at first been a little reluctant, once he had understood the stakes, he had come along easily enough. Moretti was fiddling with his cell phone when he sat down.

"Good to see you."

Ned dipped his head. "You have any information for me?"

Moretti cast a glance at the exit behind Ned. "This _did not_ come from me," he said, and his dark eyes were serious.

Ned nodded.

Moretti pulled up a screen on his phone, then slid it across the table so Ned could see it. Ned pulled out his own cell phone and punched it in.

An address.

"You have to be fucking _careful,_" Moretti advised him, as Ned passed the cell phone back over. "These guys are nothing to mess with. You bring all the firepower you can, and you might get out of it without getting hurt, but I doubt it."

"Is that where you know she is, or where she might be?"

Moretti shrugged. "Where she would probably be. They've been upset since the trial started."

Ned nodded. "Okay then."

* * *

A small part of Ned didn't even want to let Carson know, but he relented anyway, knowing that Carson's voice was the one the cops would respect. It took a good two and a half hours from Ned's meeting with Moretti, and Ned was running on the sheer adrenaline of being near the end, of getting her back, when he followed the lead car out to the business district.

The gun tucked into Ned's waistband, a relic of his time with Nancy, had warmed to his flesh as he carefully strapped himself into the bulletproof vest. The police had insisted that he stay outside while they breached; when Ned point-blank refused, they relented and gave him the vest.

If the warehouse was empty, Ned would know there was a leak on the squad, and if Moretti was able to give him another possible location, Ned would be damned if he would tell _anyone_. He would just walk in with everything he had, and if he failed, then so be it.

And it would be _tonight_. Everything in him was telling Ned now that it had to be tonight, that if he didn't find her before the sun came up, he would never see her in one piece again.

He wondered if it was wishful thinking, or if that tiny slender thread was vibrating between them again, in anticipation of her death.

He could see his life then, clearly. He could see the way it would split into his time with her and his time after he was responsible for her death, and how that grief would break him, like water over a stone.

Ned stood behind the officer, watching him whisper into his shoulder-mike. A bead of sweat on his forehead was orange from the streetlights. His breath came in pants, and his left hand cupped the butt of the gun in his right.

Ned was calm, and then he was about to climb out of his skin and scream her name.

The count was silent, the tip of the fingers, rounded lips and mouthed numbers.

"_Police!"_

The first flash blinded Ned, because he wasn't expecting it, and the policeman in front of him immediately spun backward, sending Ned into the wall. Two of the other officers returned fire.

She was close. He _knew_ it, so vehemently that he doubted he knew it at all. It was only what he _wanted_.

Ned caught sight of a door around to the right, and drew the cop's attention to it. While another pair crouched in, ducking behind some machinery before they darted out to return fire, Ned and the cop circled around, making their way slowly toward the door.

It opened when they were barely five feet away, and the cop dropped the henchman who was walking through before Ned had time to take a breath. It was a shoulder hit, but it was enough, and the cop darted forward to kick the gun out of the sprawled man's hand.

The cop took down three more soldiers, but they had no luck finding Nancy. In the other room, the cops and surviving soldiers were shouting at each other, and Ned could hear the distant hail of gunfire, but it wasn't any louder than his heart. With every door they opened he was terrified that she would be on the other side, tumbled bloodied slack limbs, her red-gold hair matted with blood and tossed over her pale face.

Back. Around back. The gunfire.

Ned burst through the back door in time to see the red wink of taillights on a fishtailing dark late-model van, a man loading a limp form into the trunk of a car. When he saw Ned and the cop, the man pulled the body before him to serve as a shield.

Red-gold hair tumbled over pale cheeks.

Ned felt like he was about to throw up. His face had gone slick and cold, and he reached slowly behind him, finding the butt of his gun.

The cop brought his gun up. "Stop," he ordered the man, his voice loud. "Police. You're under arrest."

The gun in the man's hand glinted in the dim light, and his gaze darted between Ned and the cop, over and over.

"Give up."

The car roared to life. The driver was already inside. The man holding the gun on them began to move around the car, to put the car between them and him. He kept moving, and it was almost impossible to get a clear shot.

Then he opened the side door. "Good try," he said, with a sneer in his voice. He began to duck down, to push Nancy in so he could follow.

And Ned knew. If she got into that car, if he shut the door behind her, he would never see her again. Never see her alive again.

Ned set out at a quiet dead run, moving quickly around the car. The man turned, but not quick enough; the bullet from Ned's gun gauged a trail against his temple, and he howled in surprise and pain.

"Hey!"

Ned dropped to a crouch. Nancy was safely sprawled across the backseat; he didn't have to worry about her getting caught in the crossfire, although—

The driver pulled a gun and Ned shot him, his blood boiling. The cop was shouting something but Ned couldn't hear it over the insistent pulse of his heart in his ears. Ned flung open the passenger door, checking for another occupant, but he had taken care of them both.

He darted toward the rear of the car and got there at the same time as the cop. The cop dragged the man who had used Nancy as a shield onto his belly to cuff his hands behind his back.

Ned only had eyes for Nancy, though. He reached for her, his hand trembling.

Her face was covered in blood, some dried and some fresh. Her hair was matted with it, her clothes stiff with it. Where he didn't see blood, he saw the dark mottling of bruises.

And she wasn't moving, not at all.


	5. Chapter 5

Nancy wasn't breathing.

Ned's hands were shaking as he climbed into the car, hunching over awkwardly. She was sprawled over the seat and he straightened her out as best he could, wincing when his fingertips encountered crusted or warm blood. He pressed the heel of his hand over her heart, against the soft inner side of her breast, and felt it beating, but the pulse he found in her neck was erratic.

All that took a few seconds.

He felt like he was about to pass out. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so frightened. To find her now, only to let her slip away—

He wouldn't.

A bullet pinged off the side of the car and the cop outside barked into his shoulder-radio, ducking for cover. Ned didn't care. As long as nothing touched her, he didn't care.

He tipped her chin up, opening her mouth. No obstruction. They hadn't shoved a gag so deep in her mouth that she'd stopped breathing.

He took a deep breath and then sealed his mouth over hers.

It was nowhere near a kiss, not at all. Even so, part of him wanted her to open her eyes as soon as their lips touched, to look up at him, to be _whole_. But she was covered in blood and either she was drugged or something incredibly traumatic had happened to her recently, judging by her pulse, judging by the fact that she wasn't—

He pulled back and breathed out, into her, again.

He couldn't remember the last time they had really kissed, couldn't remember the circumstances. Had it been a simple brush of her lips against his cheek, that had turned into something more? Had his fingers slipped into her hair as their mouths touched?

He pulled back and gave her another breath.

He would not lose her. He would not fucking lose her. He would do everything in his power and beyond to bring her back.

She coughed a few times, gasped, and then she was breathing.

The sight of her went indistinct with his tears.

* * *

"I'll kill every single one of them."

Carson said it under his breath but Ned still heard it. Maybe because he was thinking the same thing.

Carson looked worse than he had the last time Ned had seen him, and that in itself was impressive. Nancy was breathing, her heart was beating, but that was all they knew, for now.

Ned and Carson were seated in uncomfortable molded plastic chairs in the waiting area outside the emergency room. Bess and George were seated nearby, and Hannah had gone in search of drinks, snacks, _something_. Ned had a feeling that if Hannah slowed down she would just collapse into violent sobs. All five of them kept glancing at the double doors, kept jumping every time the intercom sparked to life.

"Thank you."

Ned wasn't sure how many times Carson had said it. Ned had just given him an acknowledging nod the first time; now, he just waved it off. Mostly because Ned wasn't sure how Carson hadn't done the same thing far before Ned had.

"I thought they were—" Carson snorted. "Well, I thought I'd put her in more danger going after her, than not."

Ned just tilted his head.

_she has to be okay she has to be okay she has to be okay_

It was all Ned could do, to focus on what Carson was saying. Maybe that was the whole point. It wasn't a question of if they were going to break down, it was just when.

There had been so much blood.

"I would have done anything they said," Carson said, mostly to himself, "on the chance that they would keep her safe. But they're _mine_, now. Every last one of them."

He clenched his jaw.

The doctor came through the double doors. "Here for Nancy Drew."

Carson and Ned stood simultaneously, Bess and George immediately after. Hannah's eyes were already going damp.

"If you'll come with me."

The other people waiting were gazing at them with open interest. Ned hated the wait, but he followed everyone else with the doctor into a corner of the hall, beyond the double doors.

The doctor glanced down at the clipboard. "Miss Drew—all of you? Mr. Drew, do you want us to go somewhere—"

Carson shook his head. "I'll be telling them whatever you say, so go ahead, please. Is she okay?"

The doctor glanced down again. "Miss Drew has intracranial hemorrhaging, and she appears to have suffered a major concussion. We've set her arm, the cast is on, and stitched up the more serious cuts."

"But she's okay? _Conscious_?" Ned had to fight to keep himself from screaming at the man.

"She's—unresponsive," the doctor said. "We're not sure why. We'll be sending her for a CT scan and we'll need to hold her for observation and treatment, but if this state persists, we'll need to explore some other options."

Ned could hear Bess sobbing quietly behind him and didn't dare look at her. "What options?" Carson asked.

"If the damage has been too severe, we may need to induce coma, in the hopes that it will give her body time to heal."

They were all quiet for a moment. Carson's hand clenched into a fist at his side. "Can we see her?"

Ned's gaze was locked on the doctor, waiting for his answer, when the doors behind them opened. "Ned Nickerson?"

Ned turned around, even though every bit of him was still centered on whatever the doctor was about to say. "Right here."

A uniformed officer walked over to him. "I need you to come with me," he said. "The man you shot didn't make it."

Without quite knowing exactly why, Ned glanced back at Carson. "Tell them to call me," Carson said, with a wave of his hand. "If they say anything about charging you, _definitely_ call me."

The officer was fighting to keep his face impassive, and failing spectacularly. "We just need a statement."

"I can't..." Ned trailed off. He couldn't leave. He couldn't leave if she might wake up. But he glanced at his watch and he was going to have to get ready for work soon anyway.

He was running on adrenaline and that was about to crash, but he could remember falling asleep at her bedside so many times, begging, praying for her to open her eyes. He needed a mental image of her that wasn't blood-drenched and terrifying.

The doctor, apparently frustrated that this interview was taking longer than he'd anticipated, turned back to Carson. "Since she's unresponsive, it will have to be one of you at a time. If she does wake up, she doesn't need to be overwhelmed by everything going on around her."

Ned clenched his jaw. "Mr. Drew... if it's all right with you, I'll be here as soon as I get off work."

Carson nodded, most of his attention back on the doctor. "I want the best that money can buy for her. If there's a specialist, if there's a facility that has experience with this kind of injury—"

The doctor shook his head. "Once we know _what_ the problem is, at least then we'll have a better idea of how to proceed."

Ned cast one last glance over his shoulder as the policeman led him out. She was strong, stronger than anyone Ned had ever met, and she'd get through this.

_Then what._

He didn't care what happened after, didn't care if she told him she never wanted to see him again. Just as long as she _woke up._

* * *

At the station, Ned was told that they had no intention of charging him in connection with the driver's death. He couldn't shake the feeling, though, that if they believed they could make it stick, they would try. If the ambush had taken just a moment or two longer, Nancy would have already been gone—probably bled to death on the backseat of that car. The bad guys shouldn't have known to move her.

Ned didn't trust a single damn one of them, not at all. If the cops had done their jobs, she would never have been gone in the first place.

Work was a nightmare. He took two hours for his lunch break just so he could get some rest, and when he came back in, he had to work twice as hard to make up for the morning. The entire time he prayed for an update, for Bess or George or even Carson to grudgingly text him or otherwise let him know Nancy was awake, but he received no texts, no voicemails.

Ned was on his fifth coffee of the day when he strode into the hospital. He asked where Nancy was, but his question was met with a blank stare.

He wanted to reach across the desk and grab the receptionist by the collar and shake her until she told him where Nancy was.

He shook it off and pulled his phone out, heading back out to the parking lot. He texted Bess to ask for an update, if Nancy had been moved.

Bess's response directed him to the third floor of the main hospital building.

"She's doing better," was Bess's greeting, when he found the waiting area. "She's still not—" The girl choked up and George patted her back. "She's still not, um, responding, but they said the scan... it wasn't..."

"The scan isn't showing any major problems," George finished. Bess was clearly exhausted; she looked more disheveled than Ned could remember seeing in quite a while. George wasn't much better. "Hannah's back there with her now, and it's one at a time, so we can call her..."

Ned took a seat beside them. "And her dad?"

George smiled tiredly while Bess worked to recompose herself. "He was on the phone half the morning yelling at people. It was... it was nice, really. He had to go get some stuff settled for the case—some of the yelling was about that."

Ned nodded. "Why didn't the receptionist know she was here?"

"Oh. Part of her protection."

Ned sat up a little straighter. "Has there been anything—"

George shrugged. "I've been awake for a day and a half now. I keep seeing things out of the corner of my eye. I have no idea."

"Why don't you guys go get some rest," Ned suggested gently.

Bess glanced up. "We couldn't," she said, but she was even more obviously flagging. "If she—"

"If she wakes up I'll call you," Ned promised. "As soon as her eyes open. I swear. Now please, get out of here."

"You have to _swear_," Bess said severely, her blue eyes intent on Ned's.

"I do. I swear."

"Like you swore you'd be there for her?"

"Bess," George mildly chastised her cousin, but then they were both looking at him.

Ned glanced down first, taking the opportunity to finish his coffee before he even tried to speak. "Look... I'm sorry. And once she wakes up, I'm going to tell her that. Repeatedly. In every way I have to. When she sent me that message—"

"I'm talking about before that," Bess said, leaning forward in her chair, her cheeks coloring. "I'm talking about whatever made you leave her."

Ned looked down again, and this time he didn't answer.

George sighed. "Come on," she told her cousin, and they walked out.

She was going to wake up. She _had_ to wake up. And once she did, nothing would be different. The things that hadn't worked before, still wouldn't work.

Hatred in her eyes would almost be a relief.

Being in love with Nancy Drew was like killing himself slowly, bleeding himself drop by drop. Seeing her as he had, the guilt—God, it was all coming back, everything he had left between them when he had told her that he needed time, distance, away from her.

He would tell her he was sorry. He _would_. He owed her that.

Now that she was back, though, she was in good hands and there was nothing else he could do, and it would be better for them both if he just walked out, better not to open the wounds all over again—

But he had promised Bess and George. Promised himself.

"Ned?"

Ned glanced up, then gave Hannah a weary smile. "How's she doing?"

Hannah shrugged. "They say she's better," she said. "She looks the same, to me. And if I could get my hands on the people who did this to her..." Hannah shuddered. "The nurse came in and they're giving her meds, cleaning her up, but if you wait about fifteen minutes..."

Those fifteen minutes passed in an agony. He impatiently bounced his knee up and down, fiddled with his phone, a magazine, another coffee.

He just wanted her to be all right.

When he had seen her, in the backseat of that car, all that he had felt was relief and terror. Relief at finding her, terror that he was too late. Now, in anticipation, he had time to dread the guilt, to imagine seeing her again, to imagine breaking up with her all over again.

He still didn't understand why she had texted _him_.

"Go ahead in, hon."

He had walked to her room, following Hannah's directions, without really paying attention to anything going on around him. A uniformed officer in the hall asked for his identification and checked him off a list, and just like that he was standing in the doorway of her room and there she was.

Her head was swathed in bandages, her arm wrapped in a cast. Her face was pale, her skin thin and delicate, her eyes closed and shaded in purple with exhaustion. She looked uneasy. Worried.

Very, very slowly, Ned walked into the room, his gaze on her, and only gradually did he become aware of the flowers. He should have sent flowers.

(_flowers with a card that says what? sorry i was fucking someone else while you were being beaten half to death? sorry i still can't be with you? sorry you depended on me because i had to let you down?_)

With a frown Ned cut that off and moved to sit down beside her, but he would be seated next to her casted arm. He walked around the bed and, holding his breath, sat down beside her and very gingerly touched her hand.

He couldn't see even a hint of reaction, no tiny paroxysm of recognition. Nothing.

His thumb began slowly stroking the back of her hand, idly, without his conscious thought. "Nan," he said softly, and her heart monitor beat in the same regular, slightly elevated rhythm.

"Nan, I'm sorry," Ned said. "I'm sorry I didn't come as soon as I got your message. I am so sorry. And now you need to wake up so you can punch me for it."

Not even so much as an eyelash flickered.

He couldn't do this. He had shut the book on this but she had called him back, and the longer he stayed...

_I will always be your friend, Nan. I will. But I can't see a place for myself in your life._

He and Nancy had never been friends, not platonic friends, but he knew her better than anyone else he had ever met. And there was always going to be something else to drag them apart, another case, another mystery, another distraction. She would never be fully _his._

Ned was beginning to doubt that she would be _anyone's_, now. Especially if she wouldn't just open her damn eyes, wouldn't look up at him and just say fucking _something_.

But it didn't matter what she said. He was going to have to walk away from this again. Thinking that the case would change a damn thing had been stupid. He had just fallen back into old habits, that was all—

_I have a suspicion you'd be too hard to get over, Nickerson. So I haven't even tried._

Ned swallowed. "Nan, please wake up," he said. "Please. I need you to."

_Absolve me of my sins so I can walk away._

She blinked.

Her eyes were open.


	6. Chapter 6

Ned had imagined it. Despite himself, he had seen it in his head: the way she would turn to him, eyes narrowed, flushing with anger. Imagined the hate in her voice as she told him she never wanted to see him again.

What actually happened was somehow worse.

She didn't turn to look at him. She didn't move at all, just a slow, calm blink, the slow rise and fall of her chest.

Her blue eyes were blank.

Ned had just opened his mouth to call out for a nurse when one rushed in, responding to her elevated readings. He was shuffled out of the room, his gaze riveted to her face, but nothing changed, not in the entire time he watched her.

It was worse. It was worse than anything else that could have happened. Even her endless hatred would be better than this.

* * *

Cindy called, three times in a row. Ned let it go to voicemail, staring at the television in his apartment but not seeing it. His overhead lights were off, and everything was washed in the blue glow, fading into nothing in the periphery. Nothing.

He had been as good as his word. He had called Bess and George immediately, while he was standing in the hallway, listening to the nurses minister to her, shaking a little from adrenaline. They were there with Hannah and Carson now, keeping vigil, and he was back home, left wishing for another phone call.

The news reports didn't _say_ anything, partially out of deference to Carson Drew, but since they had all carried reports of her disappearance, they had followed up, too. In an attempt to keep her safe, the statement said only that she had been recovered, she was safe, and she was convalescing. Carson feared, and Ned fully understood, that if it became common knowledge that she was still unresponsive, someone might try to make sure that condition remained permanent.

Surely, though, opening her eyes was a good sign. It had to be.

They had asked him how long she hadn't been breathing.

_I don't know. I don't know, I'm sorry, just save her._

For a second his brain veered to that terrible place. What if she was never _herself_ again, what if he had saved her just in time to see her slip away? What if she remained silent forever, if she could never respond to his apology at all—

As though that was all he should be concerned about. What if her life was no longer _hers_ anymore?

Ned went to the kitchen and poured himself a drink, and when he finally slept, he turned his ringer up as loud as it would go, slept with it resting just beside his ear.

* * *

He dreamed.

He dreamed that she stood in front of him, and he could barely meet her eyes as he opened his mouth, apology on his lips, and he would get down on his knees, he would _beg her_ to forgive him. Because he needed her, he saw that now. He couldn't be without her. Nothing made sense without her.

His head came back up and it all died on his lips.

She was walking away from him. She wasn't looking back.

* * *

After work Ned sat in the parking lot, in his car, for a long, long time, finishing off a fast-food hamburger and fries and then gazing at the front doors. Men and women in wheelchairs, on crutches, laughing or obviously upset, holding conversations with each other or on cell phones, kept entering and exiting as he watched.

He had the sudden thought that she would never leave. She would never walk through those doors.

Maybe she wouldn't.

But he didn't forget that the day before, when he had begged her to open her eyes, she had.

George was sitting in the waiting room. The smile she gave Ned didn't quite reach her eyes. "Carson's back there with her."

Ned sat down in the chair beside George's. The television in the corner was blaring a news report through shot speakers, and the reporter sounded staticky, alien. Everyone he could see looked exhausted or desperate or both.

"Hannah? Bess?"

"Hannah's at home. I think she hopes that if she brings Nancy's favorite food up here she'll just wake up, just like that. She'll be back, though, I'm sure." George brushed a lock of hair off her cheek.

"Why are you _here_, Ned."

Her voice held no real rancor, and Ned looked down at his hands, twisted together and draped over his knees. "I need her to know I'm sorry," he said softly.

George nodded. "Good."

Carson walked out into the waiting area, looking down at his cell phone. "Oh. Hello, Ned. Hannah's working on dinner, so I guess I'll be back in a little while. George?"

George shrugged. "Bess went to pick up something, so she should be back soon. Thanks, though."

"I just ate," Ned volunteered, even though he had a feeling that he wasn't on Carson's list of favorite people.

"Visiting hours will be over soon," George said, glancing at her watch, after Carson was gone. "You want to go say hi before we tell her good night?"

Ned went through the check at her door again. Nancy's eyes were closed, although he could see the faint track of a tear down her cheek.

He wished he didn't know what that looked like.

Ned took the seat next to her again, looking at the machines, the television set in the corner, the flowers. God, he wished he was able to leave something here for her, flowers or a balloon or a stuffed animal or _something_, for when she woke up—

And again he hit that wall, that lump in his throat. He needed to take himself out of this, for her sake as well as his own.

And yet he was here.

He was going to call Cindy as soon as he walked out of here. Call her and lose himself in her for a while. He would taper his visits here off, and when Nancy woke there would be another coffee date, another span of heartbeats he would spend in her presence, and he would leave this again.

He thought her hand moved slightly under his, but when he looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since he had walked into the room, she looked absolutely the same. Like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Like whatever made her _her_ was gone.

He didn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice a little rusty, and he cleared his throat. "Nancy, please. Please wake up."

_For what._

"We need you back. We need you."

The door opened, and a pale orderly, his blond hair cropped close, stepped inside. He glanced up into Ned's face.

"Sorry. Didn't know anyone was in here."

The orderly had a syringe in his hand.

The room—the room was starting to feel hot, somehow. Ned wondered for a second if he had picked up a cold from being in the hospital too often, but it was so sudden, a hard flush over him.

The orderly tugged the cuff of his coat down over his wrist as he turned to go.

Ned saw the edge of something there, a blue mark. A tattoo.

The coat didn't fit right.

Ned stood, releasing Nancy's hand. "Hey," he said.

When the orderly turned, the cap was off the syringe. His lip was twisted up into a snarl.

Ned was halfway around the bed when the orderly lunged for Nancy.

Ned aimed a hard punch at him, trying to keep him away from her. The orderly wrapped his fist around the syringe and lashed out with the needle end, and Ned barely managed to avoid it. "Hey!" Ned cried loudly, hoping to grab the attention of the guard outside. "Hey!"

The orderly twisted and pulled his head back, then snapped it forward, catching Ned in the mouth. Ned felt the gush of blood from his nose and brought his fist back, striking the point of the other man's chin. The man let out a pained cry and Ned saw blood on his lips. He must have bitten his tongue.

With a growl Ned wrestled the man to the ground, kicking all the way. His foot connected with the bedframe and it shuddered a few inches, but the steady beep of the monitors didn't change.

"Hey!" the guard called through the door. "Unlock this!"

_Shit_.

Ned managed to get his arm around the man's neck, and he bucked, lashing backward with the syringe. Ned hissed when the tip lodged in his forearm, but he managed to shrug the man off before he could depress the plunger. Ned grabbed the man's flailing hand and pressed his thumb hard into a nerve cluster, grinning, straining as the man released the syringe with an angry cry.

By the time the cop tracked down a nurse and unlocked the door, the fake orderly had passed out in Ned's sleeper hold. "Where the hell were you?" Ned asked angrily.

"He had credentials—"

Ned tuned out the rest of the excuses, angrily, reaching for his cell phone.

Carson answered on the first ring. "Is she okay?"

"She almost wasn't," Ned replied, touching his upper lip. His fingers came away red with blood, but he could tell it was stopping. "A guy just came in with a syringe and went after her."

"_Shit._"

"Yeah," Ned agreed, glaring at the cop as he dragged the fake orderly out. He glanced down at Nancy and his heart leapt a little when he saw that her eyes were open again, but they were still blank. "I can lock the door until you get back here, but—"

"It's not going to be enough." Carson breathed out. "We need to get her somewhere safe."

"If you transport her out of here they'll just follow—"

"Lock the door," Carson said, then remembered himself. "Please. Please lock the door. Stay there with her. I'll call you back in five minutes. Is—is Bess there?"

"Don't know."

"Just stay there."

* * *

The plan was pretty simple, the way Carson explained it. As soon as humanly possible, George would take Nancy, in a wheelchair, to a secure location, where she would be under twenty-four-hour armed surveillance. At the same time, Ned would take Bess, also in a wheelchair, to the airport. They would be more obvious. They would draw the hired guns out, and the attention away from Nancy.

Ned, Bess, and George were in Nancy's room. Bess looked down at her friend, whose eyes were closed again. "Okay," Bess said, letting out a trembling breath. "Okay. I can do this." She sounded much calmer than she had to be feeling.

A knock sounded at the door. Ned answered it cautiously, scrutinizing the credentials the uniformed officer presented, knowing that it was a meaningless gesture. "Okay. Here are the vests," he said, handing out the bulletproof vests, one for each of them.

The nurse arrived with another gown and a wheelchair. Bess scrutinized Nancy, then glanced down at her hair. "It's cold, we need to put a hat on her," Bess said, her voice tense. "Our hair isn't the same color."

And Nancy had lost weight, Ned noticed, looking down at her. They'd have to stick her in a puffy coat, sweats, something. Too cold outside for this.

"The cast," he said.

Bess groaned. "Shit."

George went down to the hospital gift shop to buy sweats, jackets, whatever they needed, after checking the bag Hannah had optimistically brought for Nancy's departure—the clothes she had arrived in had been cut off her, they were so stiff and ruined with dried blood. Bess went into the bathroom to change into the hospital gown.

Four of the guards Carson had called arrived, and they were all crammed into the tiny room, and Ned found himself in the corner beside Nancy's bed again.

She would be in hiding for the duration of the trial. It would be months.

He wouldn't have to taper off his visits. She would just be gone.

It was what he had wanted.

He told himself he was just scared for her. Given how ruthless the guy with the blond crew-cut had been, she was definitely in danger, and any time they spent here was more time she could be attacked.

He touched her hand, and one of the guards glanced at him. Ned cleared his throat but he couldn't say anything, not in front of them.

_Goodbye, Nan. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Be safe, and wake up, and get better, and stop putting yourself into all these damn situations—_

George came back, panting a little; obviously she had sprinted down the hall carrying two huge bags of clothes and supplies. "Okay," she said. "Let's do this."

Ned hated that he felt relieved. He hated that he was happy that it was out of his hands, but a part of him had been dreading it, had dreaded seeing her, and at least she would be safe.

"Please," Bess said, when she was seated in the wheelchair. She glanced over at Nancy. Nancy's head was tilted over, and she looked like a broken doll. Bess's eyes were shining with tears. "Can we just—can we ride down together, I just want to tell her—I just want to say goodbye—"

The four of them rode down in the oversized elevator together, with four guards, and Bess reached for Nancy's hand. "Nan... please, I don't know if you can hear me, but please get better. Please. I wish I could be there with you to help you, and maybe I can, but please..."

The leader of the officers cleared his throat. "We have two ambulances waiting," he said. "One at the emergency entrance, one at the other. Miss Drew will go down to the nonemergency entrance. We have squad cars escorting each. The airport..."

They had gone over it all, already. Bess squeezed Nancy's hand. Ned found that there was a lump in his throat.

_Shit._

He had to let her go. Had to.

They came out of the elevator, the officers checking ahead of them. Bess was still squeezing Nancy's hand, and Ned kept hoping to see some twitch, some sign of recognition, but he didn't.

"This way," one of the officers gestured, and Ned turned Bess's wheelchair to follow, and Bess let out a little gasp as she released Nancy's hand, reaching up to swipe at her tears. In their matching wool caps, scarves, and coats, they would fool someone from a distance.

George turned Nancy's wheelchair.

This was it.

Ned swallowed hard. It shouldn't hurt this much to say goodbye to her; he had done it a thousand times.

Then the first shot rang out, a loud, shocking pop that made everything else quiet in comparison. Another longer round followed, in quick stacatto pops, and Ned dropped down, swinging Bess's chair around to make her a less obvious target.

The officers formed a ring around them, returning fire, but there were only four of them and people were screaming, and, her face, Nancy's _face_, she wasn't wearing anything other than the vest to protect her.

Bess leaned down in the chair, cowering. Nancy just sat there, unmoving.

_Shit._

Ned pushed Bess back into the elevator, knocking two nurses out of the way, and ignored their warning cries, then scooped Nancy up into his arms. A bullet sizzled by his leg.

He had to get her out of there. Had to get her somewhere safe.

Hunching protectively over her as best he could, he tightened his grip on her and ran.


	7. Chapter 7

_You have to keep her safe._

Ned drove all night, that first night.

Hannah had brought him a bag, a large duffel bag, with some of Nancy's clothes and the documents Ned had asked for. Carson had arranged for Ned to use a station wagon instead of his own car, and swiftly he put Nancy into the passenger seat and made sure she was buckled in. He stopped at a convenience store, glancing back at the car the entire time, keeping an eye on her, and bought energy drinks, power shots, caffeine, supplies.

He crashed, anyway. He couldn't help it. The adrenaline was powerful but it only lasted so long.

Along the way he learned that if he put a straw into Nancy's mouth, she might drink, but he had to tip her chin up so it wouldn't all fall out of her mouth. He could lead her around, slowly, carefully, by the hand, but it was like leading a sleepwalker. If he took her to a bathroom, she would use it, but he had to take care of cleaning her up—he was tentative, gentle about it, but she still tensed up, even while she was staring past him. She walked along obediently enough, blankly, and the knowing looks he got from cashiers and other late-night customers told him that they thought she was drugged out of her mind and he was helping her. Or taking advantage of her, Ned wasn't sure which. The bandages and horrendous bruises, and her cast, didn't help. The dirtier looks cast his way seemed to imply that he was probably responsible.

He wished he didn't feel that in some small way, he was.

If they ran into any kind of threat, he knew he would have to put her into a fireman's carry and run as fast as he could. She wasn't going to move any faster than that stolid lazy gait, and the wheelchair was awkward to maneuver.

He just had to get her somewhere, get her to a safe location so Carson could make arrangements. That was what got him through the first eight-hour stretch of the trip.

He pulled over to a rest area when he found himself drifting off, his eyes closing when he was going ten miles over the speed limit on the interstate. He backed into a slot near the edge of the lot, near some cover, and lifted the tailgate. A few old quilts were tossed back there.

Ned kept an eye out as he opened the passenger seat, lifted Nancy out of it, and put her in the back. He made sure the car was locked and hesitated for a moment before tucking a blanket over her, making sure she was out of plain view. He settled in beside her, not touching her, and for a second it was like tracking down a lead with her again. Like nothing had changed. But everything had.

"Try to get some rest," he whispered, and she didn't respond.

He didn't expect her to.

* * *

The prepaid cell—in his paranoia he had ditched his real cell with his car back home—rang when they were ten hours down the road.

"Anything happen?"

"I think we're good," Ned replied. "I haven't seen anyone obviously following us."

"How is she doing?"

"The same," Ned admitted, hoping Nancy's father wouldn't ask how thoroughly Ned was having to take care of her. He didn't look over at her when he answered. "So what's the plan?"

"I have a friend who has a cabin, across the border."

Carson had told Ned to head northwest. _The border_?

"_Canada?_"

"They would have to be really dedicated, to cross into another country after you," Carson said. "The closer you are to Chicago, the more soldiers they can send after you. Get her up there. I'll make some arrangements to relieve you in a few days. Go into the town and I'll wire some money for you—cash, untraceable. You know how to do this, Ned?"

"Yeah," Ned sighed. "I've... yeah, I've done this kind of thing a few times." But it had been before, on Nancy's cases, and none of them had felt quite as serious as this. Avoiding leaving a backtrail was tricky, especially now, but all he had to do was throw them off for a while.

Carson was quiet for a minute. "I can't thank you enough for this."

_No, no you can't_, Ned thought, and immediately felt guilty for it. He had made the choice to pick Nancy up and take her when they had been ambushed. It had been his choice, and no one else's.

Maybe she would wake up, before he left. Maybe he would be able to say he was sorry before he left her.

"It's not a problem, sir."

Carson snorted derisively. "It most definitely is. I'm just glad you were able to get her out of there. If you hadn't—"

"But I did," Ned said firmly. "Here, let me record the directions."

After he and Carson went over how to get to the cabin, and information for a few people Ned could contact for help along the way if he had need, Ned hung up the phone and chuckled a little to himself, but there was no humor behind it.

He had planned on leaving her behind. Now he would be with her constantly for at least the next few days.

The thought was fucking terrifying, when he let himself think about it, and he'd had nothing to do _but_ think since this shit had started. He was trying hard to be three steps ahead of the people behind him, but it just kept pulsing in his head, to get her _somewhere safe, somewhere safe, oh God_, and if he lost her now after some stupid mistake—

He couldn't lose her now. He owed her that.

He glanced over at her.

_Penance._

_For what?_

Ned snickered again. Well, that was great. His conscience had decided to torment him in her voice. "I was tired out and so tired and—worried," he said, knowing she couldn't hear him, wondering if she ever would again—

_shut up, shut up_, he told himself.

"And I was with—my girlfriend. She's... she's not even my girlfriend, not really, but... if I had just realized what that message meant..."

The guilt closed his throat for him. The fear and his guilt made him clamp his mouth shut, and he could _feel_ it, and he had thought it would be better to say it out loud, but it didn't matter. What would it matter. Even if he actually heard her say that she forgave him, he was pretty sure that he never would forgive himself.

"I owe you this," he said, more quietly. "More than this. And..."

He didn't say the other words, the terrible words.

_And then I can tell you goodbye._

His stomach rumbled, and Ned glanced down. "So," he said, trying to make his voice brighter. He kept a lookout for the next populated exit. "Hamburger? Hamburger sounds good, I think."

So did a milkshake. He remembered that Nancy liked strawberry milkshakes.

Remembering that made him feel worse.

Crossing the border was kind of a nightmare. By then Ned was starting to crash again—he would be so relieved once they finally crossed the threshold into that damn cabin—and he had run through a dozen scenarios, wondering what to tell the crossing officials. Hoping that their fake papers would pass muster. Hoping that anyone following them was lost by now.

Ned turned off the radio, rolled down the windows, and gave a perfunctory smile to the officer waiting at the head of the line. He handed over their papers and, as unobtrusively as he could, scrubbed his palms on his jeans. When the officer spoke to Nancy, Ned explained that she had a terrible migraine and had taken some strong painkillers. The officer asked what had happened, and Ned explained that she had been in a horrific car accident a few days before, and was lucky to be alive. He was taking her home to her family...

God, if only that were true.

If only someone was there waiting for her, someone who would be able to care for her. Someone better than him.

Ned breathed a thankful prayer when the guard returned their documents and waved him on. "Okay," he said, glancing over at Nancy, who was staring straight ahead again. "Okay. Not too much longer, Nan, okay? My ass is going numb, and—" he chuckled, "I think I'm getting punchy, and... I have to keep an eye on you, so we'll get some cute little two-bed hotel room and get some rest. Some real rest. Sounds good, huh?"

She was like a silent, living doll beside him. A doll who looked exactly like his ex-girlfriend. And while she was like this, there was no way for her to get into any trouble, because she wasn't doing a damn thing—

But she was in trouble anyway.

It came to him, in a rush, how awful Carson Drew had to be feeling now. His daughter had been beaten within an inch of her life, and God knew what else had happened to her—and men were after her, eager for her blood. Eager to capture their pawn again.

He started scrutinizing the cars behind them a little more thoroughly.

Beside him, Nancy's head drooped again.

_She's getting worse._

The panic that had been thick in his throat rose again. No. _No._ But the idea had lingered, ever since he had put her into the car. In the ambulance that had been waiting for her, nurses had been ready to put her IVs back in, to make sure she was nourished, to take care of her. What if everything he was feeding her was bad for her? What if all the jostling had made her head injury worse...

Ned set his jaw. Well, what the fuck could he do about it, here? Check her into a damn hospital? Might as well put a target on her back again.

He slammed his palm on the steering wheel.

He had to ditch the American plates, get them somewhere safe. Get some _rest_. He couldn't even think straight. Then he would be able to figure out what to do.

He pulled off the road, into a large travel center with a family-style restaurant inside and a large crowded parking lot outside. Here, they would blend in easily with the other travelers. The cabin was in the middle of nowhere, though, and there would be no civilization to blend into. If they were still being followed, by then it would be all over.

_That_ was just something else he couldn't think about.

Nancy's cheek was in shadow, her lashes low. Every time he looked at her face, the bruises shocked him again. So many times they had done this, driving for a case, switching off when one of them was too tired to continue. Back then she would stretch a little, smile at him, ask if they could stop for a coffee before she took over.

If only this was reversed. Nancy would handle this with her usual aplomb—

No. No. She would have stayed and fought, over him, past the point of sanity.

_She will always be that way. The second she wakes up, she will be that way again._

Ned shook his head and took out his cell phone. He jotted down the contact information Carson had given him.

The first name was Simon Richards, and Ned was cautious with what he said until Simon said, "Carson told me you might be calling."

Ned sighed in relief. "I need to ditch these plates. Maybe get another car. Anything you can do?"

"Yeah. Definitely. Where exactly are you?"

Ned gave Simon the best directions he possibly could. "Look, I really appreciate this."

"Oh, it's fine," Simon said, shrugging it off. "Carson's a very old friend of mine, and I'm happy to do anything I can to help him or his daughter."

Simon arrived in a silver SUV with Canadian plates, and very quickly Ned helped him transfer everything over. Nancy was the last, and when Ned lifted her in his arms, she was warm, breathing. Was she too warm? Was she getting a fever?

Ned had to sleep. He had to sleep and give himself some time when he wasn't fucking worrying about all this. He felt like he was going to just lose it and start screaming, any second now—

And maybe, just maybe, he would go to sleep and wake up in his own bed and _all_ this, fucking _all_ of this, would just have been some insane dream.

He would cry in gratitude if that happened, he was sure.

Simon handed Ned an envelope, and when Ned looked inside, he wanted to return it, wanted to protest, but he hadn't reached the town yet, didn't have access to the money Carson would be sending him. "Thanks," Ned finally said, shaking his head. "I—we both appreciate it."

Simon smiled. He looked roughly Carson's age, maybe a few years younger, but he was dressed in jeans and flannel and workboots. He also looked like he would be able to give a bear a fair fight with his bare hands. "Just get her somewhere safe," Simon said, clapping his hand against Ned's shoulder a few times. "In fact, come to think of it, why don't you come to my house for the night. Least that way I can keep an eye on you."

Ned had to admit that the idea was appealing. Once he passed out, he wasn't sure he would easily wake again.

Simon was grinning when Ned looked up at him. "I wouldn't let you drive too much further tonight anyway," he commented. "You look beat, son. And like you need to caffeine detox."

Ned gave him a wan smile. "Well, one more coffee for the road won't hurt," he told Simon. "Look, again—thanks."

Ned turned up the heat as high as he could, once he had cranked the SUV. Once the sun went down, the air became bitterly cold, the wind biting. Nancy was slumped against her side of the car. Ned sighed and made sure she was buckled in before he followed Simon out of the parking lot.

A _bed._ A bed and safety. Maybe a good breakfast in the morning that he wouldn't have to wolf down while at the wheel, the car idling, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. He had been scrutinizing cars behind him for so long that even the valley girls with their white-rimmed sunglasses had started looking suspicious.

"Wonder if you ever met this Simon guy," Ned said, glancing over at Nancy. Her lips were a little parted. "He seems pretty legit, though. And this is a sweet car. Not as great as the Mustang, but it'll do."

Ned paused and had to blink fiercely to focus on the road in front of him. If he stopped talking, he was afraid that he would fall asleep again.

"Wonder how your dad met this guy," Ned continued, merging onto the highway behind their old station wagon. "He really doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who would be in a courtroom taking down miscreants. He looks like he keeps hunting dogs and maybe makes weapons in his spare time." Ned chuckled. "Not that your dad wouldn't hang out with guys like that.

"I should probably call him," Ned said with a sigh. "Just let him know what we're doing. You think that'd be good?" He glanced over at Nancy for the hell of it. "I hope he sends Hannah up here to be with you. Hannah and maybe an entire Special Forces squad or whatever. Lots of cute guys for you to flirt with. Maybe you'd wake up for that."

Ned felt himself flush a little as soon as he said it. Simon changed lanes and Ned followed, then carefully dialed Carson's number.

"Everything okay?" Carson asked.

"Going pretty well. We're going to stay with your friend for the night."

"Which friend?"

"The one who looks like he could take down a bear with both hands."

Carson chuckled. "Good. You'll be in good hands. Let me know when you're on the way in the morning—it shouldn't take you too long from there."

"Great," Ned said. "Good night, sir."

"Good night," Carson said, and then paused. Any other time he would've asked to talk to Nancy, then. Ned wondered, nonsensically, for a moment if he should hold the phone up to her ear, let her hear her father's voice. But obviously that hadn't helped in the hospital, and he tried to be optimistic about anything working now.

"He misses you," Ned said softly, after he had hung up the phone.

_We miss you. I miss you._

Ned had to blink hard again; the taillights in front of him were all becoming indistinct red halos. "Asshole," Ned muttered, when a car swerved in front of him, cutting him off.

Then another car swooped in from the side, crowding the station wagon. Simon tried to speed up, but the station wagon had terrible acceleration.

Ned watched in almost numb horror as the two cars moved in tandem to force Simon off the road, and the station wagon plunged through the ditch on the side, heading straight toward a guardrail.

Simon slammed hard on the brakes, but it wasn't enough.

The car screamed to a juddering halt as it slammed head-on into the barrier.


	8. Chapter 8

Ned had to decide, in a split second, what to do, and his head was pounding.

Ahead of him, the two cars were slowing down. They were going to come back, finish the job if they needed to, and they would discover that Nancy wasn't in the station wagon anymore.

If Ned stayed, he was exposing them to further danger. If he left, Simon was almost certainly going to die.

Ned slammed the SUV's brakes hard, and it fishtailed wildly. The cars behind him immediately began bleating in protest.

_Fuck._ Ned didn't even know what number to call for emergency services in Canada. Not for sure. He was pretty sure it was 911.

The driver's side door of the station wagon flew open as Ned pulled onto the shoulder and swung out of the SUV. Simon staggered out of the destroyed car, one hand to his head.

"_Come on!_" Ned shouted, beckoning frantically to Simon. "_Come on! We have to get the hell out of here!"_

The entire time Simon was making his way toward him, Ned was fidgeting. They were coming. Ned's heart was triphammering with that knowledge. Ned wrenched open the back passenger door and Simon hobbled inside, hissing.

_Fuck._ A little while earlier and that would have been _them_.

Ned pulled out as fast as he dared under the conditions, and adjusted Nancy's hood to cover her hair. He wasn't going to give the soldiers any hints about where she was, if he could help it. "Where to from here?" he asked Simon, his voice shaking a little. Ned felt like he could be awake for another _day_, like this, but he was sure the adrenaline was going to burn off in thirty minutes, and he'd be more exhausted than ever.

Simon groaned.

"Are you hurt? Do you need to get to the hospital?"

"I think I'm all right," Simon said gruffly. "Take the next exit. We're gonna take the back way. It'll add twenty minutes on, but I know those roads like the back of my hand and if they catch up with us, it'll be easier to lose them."

Ned gunned it past the two dark cars, swerving into the exit lane at the last possible second. He cast a longing glance at the bright signs of the fast-food restaurants, but followed Simon's directions—they had no time to waste.

When they finally pulled up at Simon's house, Ned turned off the car and almost collapsed bonelessly against the steering wheel. He felt like he would be able to sleep for four days, easily.

But they couldn't delay that long, he was sure. They weren't that lucky. Only the cabin seemed to promise any sort of safety.

Ned was introduced to Simon's wife and son, but that was a blur. He carried Nancy to the narrow bed Simon's wife indicated, making sure she was thoroughly covered by the quilt, and then collapsed on the couch, in front of a low fire. Simon and his wife were speaking in low tones in the kitchen. Nothing they said made any sense. Ned couldn't understand any of it. He was worn out.

He fell asleep as soon as his head touched the oversoft pillow.

* * *

"I should be there with her."

Ned couldn't exactly disagree.

Simon, who had been visibly favoring his leg the morning after the accident, had arranged for Ned to take a late-model sedan instead of the SUV, just in case they had been spotted. The sleep Ned had managed hadn't been enough, not at all, and when he woke it was to one mental image: the blood splatters on the concrete warehouse floor. He couldn't remember the rest of his dream, and most of him was glad for that.

Ned had never really shopped for a girl before. Not like this. He had called Bess, hoping for some tips.

"She'll need pads," Bess told him, and Ned, avoiding all eye contact, maneuvered through the health and beauty aisles until he found what Bess was talking about.

"Just any of these? One—thing of them?"

Bess sighed, exasperated, and directed him to a specific package. "Now, get her some more shirts—and you have to get something easy to put on her. Sleeveless, button-down, that should work. Stretchy and loose would work too."

Ned walked out of the store with a cart full of merchandise, sure that it would be dark already. He was so tired that it felt like countless hours had passed while he was scouring through racks and sorting through packages. Bess really should be here with her. Bess wouldn't blush at the thought of—_pads, _or anything else. But he couldn't imagine that she would be able to toss Nancy over her shoulder in a pinch, either.

Food. They would need food, supplies... more than the potato chip cans and energy drinks he had been burning through the entire drive.

Ned found the key to the cabin stuck to the back of the air conditioning unit and did a complete circuit all the way around before he cautiously unlocked the door. He was relieved to see that the cabin held two bedrooms, separate bedrooms.

And guns. There were guns, too.

By the time the sun went down, Ned had put a dent in the money Carson had wired in, and he had them well stocked. Whoever relieved him would be thankful. He had even bought gummy multivitamins for Nancy. He couldn't imagine trying to get her to swallow pills.

Then he caught himself wondering if she was in agony. There had been no time to pick up prescription painkillers or anything else, during his rush out of town.

Dinner was simple and eerily silent; there was no television in the cabin, and Ned wondered if any signal even made it out here. His cell phone stubbornly flashed a no-service message whenever he tried to make a call. Ned heated up a bowl of pasta in tomato sauce for Nancy and made himself two sandwiches.

"What would you be doing right now?" he said to her, wiping her chin. "Stuck here with no television. You'd be stir-crazy in the first half-hour." He glanced down for a second. "Maybe you are. Maybe you are going stir-crazy in there. That has to be worse, huh?

"But let's be honest, if we were up here... all of us, even, you and me and Bess and George, by now there would be something to solve, something else to do.

"It's so strange to see you sitting still for so long."

Ned was seeing things out of the corner of his eye, the way George had described when she had been waiting outside Nancy's room, waiting for something to happen. He needed a full night of sleep, and given that there were no distractions out here other than making sure no one approached the cabin, he had a feeling he would probably get plenty of sleep.

Maybe.

First, though, he needed a shower. He could feel stale air conditioning and sweat clinging to him.

Then he looked over at Nancy and his stomach dropped a little. If he needed a shower, he could only imagine...

What the hell was he going to do. How could he handle _bathing_ her, for God's sake? They had only been naked around each other a few times, briefly, hazily; she was very modest, and...

Bess should be here.

Ned shook his head briskly. But she wasn't, and he was, and he would only have to do it a few times before he left her in someone else's good hands.

He put it off, though. He cleared up the remains of their dinner, put the clothes and supplies he had bought for her and the duffel Hannah had sent with her in her room, put his own cheap newly-purchased clothes into his room. The bathroom was tiny and held a stand-up shower instead of a tub. At least there were towels.

And he was going to have to make sure her cast didn't get wet.

He remembered the ways he had gotten around that when his own arm had been broken, and went into the kitchen. He came back with a pair of scissors, a garbage bag, and a roll of duct tape.

Once her cast was securely wrapped up, he led her to the bathroom and turned on the spray. "Okay," he said, positive that it wouldn't work, but he had to try. "I'm... gonna go get you some clothes to change into, and the shampoo and everything, so... if you want to go ahead and start... taking your clothes off."

She didn't, though. He returned with shampoo and conditioner and soap, underclothes and a loose flannel nightgown, toothbrush and toothpaste, a comb, and she was still standing there. He sighed inwardly and put it all down.

He didn't want to look at her face. Her eyes were closed when he stood in front of her, telling himself that this was nothing, it was just like being a nurse or something, helping someone who couldn't help herself. Wasn't sexual. Wasn't wrong or immodest or...

Oh God.

_Gut it up, Nickerson._

He took the hem of her shirt in his hands and began to push it up, then glanced at her face, trying to see whether she was uncomfortable, cold, anything.

Her eyes were open again and he could almost, _almost_ feel her gaze. She was looking behind him, though, toward her reflection. Maybe even seeing it, somehow.

He wondered if she had seen her reflection since she had been rescued.

Her bruises looked terrible, her lips chapped—he had forgotten lip balm—and above the bandage on her temple, her hair was greasy and flat to her head. She looked worse than he could imagine her ever being before, and he had never thought that would be true. He had seen her hours away from succumbing to poison, had seen her pull herself out of car accidents, but she had never looked like this. She _had_ to be in pain, even above the broken arm, but she never made a sound, not a single whimper to betray it.

Those eyes he had stared into so many times were blank to him now.

Ned shook his head.

_Please... we can't, we can't._ Her slender body arching up under his, shivering with desire even as she told him they couldn't give in to it.

Ned took a step back. Not okay. It was not okay for him to remember that, not here. Not again.

He took a long breath and tested the water to stall a little more. Then he steeled himself and took her shoes and socks off, her shirt, her pants and panties. He carefully took her bra off last, tossing all her clothes into the corner, and she shivered, once.

"Over here," he said soothingly, and it was all he could do not to just stare at her. She would be mortified, to be here like this. But the worst part wasn't having to look away, it was how terrible the bruises, the stitches were, the deep purple and black-red marks of knuckles and fingers and God knew what else—

_You were supposed to save me._

Her voice again. Ned set his jaw. He deserved it, deserved whatever his conscience shelled out. He _could_ have saved her. Maybe not from all this, but from most of it. And he was begrudging giving her a fucking shower.

He wanted to kill whoever had done this to her. No one, _no one_, deserved this kind of abuse, not for any reason, and—

And they hadn't been his fists, they hadn't. But they would be, if he ever found the pitiful excuse for a man who had done this.

Given how keyed up he was, the shower went pretty well. He felt almost divided, like part of him was objectively ticking off each task as he went through it, the rest of him focused on _not_ focusing on her naked body there before him. The only snag was when he lathered his hands and stroked one gently between her legs, as lightly as he could, and she suddenly tilted off balance, striking the solid wall of the shower with her free arm.

"Shh, shh," Ned said softly. "It's okay. I'm not... it's okay."

He felt a lot more comfortable, and he was sure she felt a lot more comfortable, once he had her dressed. He gave her one last chance to go to the bathroom—he wasn't quite sure if she had any real dignity left, and he would be mortified if she came back to herself and remembered any of this—and tucked her into bed, then took the coldest shower he could bear.

It wasn't so bad. Being here with her wasn't so bad. He could make it through, and this wouldn't make up for what he had done, but it would help a little.

Even though Ned was almost trembling with exhaustion, he took one of the rifles, made sure it was loaded, and bundled into his coat. He went outside and checked for fresh tracks, for lights in other cabins' windows, for the smell of woodsmoke in the air. A sizable stack of already-cut firewood was under a tarp beside the back door. Ned shrugged and made a mental note to grab a few pieces—then wondered if anyone would pass their cabin, see the strange car out front, make a connection.

He rummaged through the storage container on the front porch and found a large tarp, securing it around the car. Then he brought in five armfuls of the wood. Setting a fire would be dangerous, just in case someone _was_ looking for them out here, so he decided not to light one unless the cabin's temperature turned unbearable in the night. He set the kindling, found the matches.

Then he collapsed to the couch for a moment, still shivering a little in his coat.

He did another circuit around the house, this time on the inside, and checked all the windows and doors. Nancy hadn't moved since he had tucked her into bed. "Good night," he told her softly as he pulled the door nearly closed.

Ned was in his own bed, the door of his own room pulled nearly closed just in case he heard something in the night, the rifle next to his bed in easy reach. He steepled his fingers behind his head.

Seeing her like that, so uncharacteristically vulnerable—so unlike herself, really—_God_, it was bringing back those feelings. For so many years all he had wanted to do was protect her, but Nancy hardly ever needed protecting. She was like a damn whirlwind.

She _had_ been.

He had never spent so long with her, and he still wasn't, because she wasn't _there_.

The old idle fantasy rose again, of her opening those blue eyes and actually focusing on him. He had been preparing himself for the worst, when the worst was if it never happened, if she never came back at all.

He wanted her to open her eyes and smile at him. Wanted her to slide her arms around him and tell him that she had missed him, that everything was going to be all right now. The case was over. They could begin again.

Would he have the strength to do it, then? Oh, his ego loved the thought of her throwing herself at him, begging him to come back to her, but he would hurt them both if he did.

And she was never going to be that girl. She would never be the one begging to have him back.

He saw her face, crumpled and tearstained, when he had told her that it was over.

His stomach tightened at the thought. He had to, and it had to start now. Ripping off the bandaid all at once was always easier, and when it came to Nancy...

Well, he had never expected _this._

And she would solve it for him, he knew. They both knew there would always be another case and another and another, another string of broken dates and stolen kisses and broken hearts. She had never been his and it was better for him to just accept that again.

Taking care of her—on top of his exhaustion and guilt—was just confusing him a little; that was all. He would go back to Chicago and all this would feel like some strange dream. _She_ felt like some strange dream.

_Dream_.

He had drifted off when he heard a soft noise, and he had the gun in his hand half a second later.

The cabin was starting to feel a little chilly, he noticed, as he cautiously opened his bedroom door, rubbing a knuckle over his lashes. Moonlight was streaming in through one of the windows.

He had pulled all the curtains and blinds after he had checked the locks.

His eyes adjusted enough and he saw that she was standing there, at the window. Her free hand was touching the glass.

Ned's heart sped up. "Nan? Nancy? Are you... are you awake?"

_I hate you. I never want to see you again._

_Never leave me again. I love you so much_.

Ned swallowed and walked cautiously toward her. She didn't turn at his approach. He touched her, turning her toward him—

Her eyes were blank, fixed.

He stifled a sigh, but at least she had done this of her own volition—unless she was somehow sleepwalking. That prospect was horrifying. He had done his best to keep anyone who might try to break into the cabin out; he hadn't made arrangements for keeping anyone _in_.

"Come on, Nan," he said gently, and began to lead her back to her bedroom. "It's okay. You need to get some rest. We both do."

He blinked when he saw that her bed had been stripped down to the sheets. The blankets were tangled up into something like a nest, between the bed and the bedside table. When there, she would have a good line of sight to the window and to the door.

One of the rifles was on the floor in front of the disheveled blankets.

He definitely hadn't left it there.

Ned's eyes widened, and he turned to her, but her gaze was still blank. "Nan," he whispered, and gently slipped his arms around her. "Nan, it's okay. We'll be safe here. We came here to keep you safe. Don't... Just sleep in the bed, okay? It'll be all right."

Ned pulled back, his hands resting on her upper arms, looking for any spark of recognition, any sign at all.

But all he knew was that small quiet voice again, the voice that sounded like hers.

_They're coming_.

Ned shook his head, trying to comfort them both. "We're okay. We're okay."

But he could see it, could _smell_ it again. Blood drops on a concrete floor.

And he was afraid.


	9. Chapter 9

_and on that day, girlie_

Ned opened his eyes.

The cabin was cold. He could feel it through the blankets. His limbs were tight with it.

For just a moment longer he didn't think about how right it was or how wrong, just luxuriated in the feeling of it. He had been dreaming that he and Nancy were in his apartment, that she had tugged her shirt over her head, blushing oh so very becomingly before he ducked in for a kiss. She'd had her legs wrapped around him and there had been no down or up, no compass beyond her lips and the feel of her breath on his skin. He had felt the

_(smooth, unbroken, just as he remembered)_

slender tremble of her waist under the span of his hands, and her eyes had shone as she rose on her knees over him—

No.

Ned squeezed his eyes tight shut. He tried to imagine Cindy instead, but it fell apart. He had spent years fantasizing about Nancy, and that groove was still well-worn in his imagination. It was easy to slip into it again.

He had a split-second image of Nancy, uninjured, flushed, giggling, her loose hair falling to frame her face—

He shook his head and tossed back the covers.

Before he had gone to bed, he had put the blankets back onto her bed along with the pillows and tucked her back in. He had left the gun at her bedside just in case it would help her sleep better, but she still moved like a sleepwalker. If someone—if _he_—startled her, he couldn't imagine that she would lift the gun before she would be overpowered.

She had gone to the window by herself. He was going to be positive. She was getting better. She had to be getting better.

He opened her bedroom door.

The blankets were on the floor again. She was sitting in them, looking for all the world like she had not slept at all the night before.

_and on that day, girlie_

Ned blinked. It felt like a line from a forgotten movie, a hazy television show. He was dying for some sort of distraction, he guessed, but he'd rather remember something with some more significance to it.

"Ba—"

Ned caught himself and flushed a little. He needed a cup of coffee, to wipe the remains of that dream out of his head. _Baby._ He couldn't call her that anymore.

"You have to sleep," he finished lamely. "Maybe later? I'll keep watch." He smiled at her. "And soon you'll have someone else to boss around. That will be nice, won't it."

Inwardly he grimaced. He hated talking to her like some sort of invalid grandparent, but keeping up his end of the conversation was hard, and he had no idea if she was listening.

He wished he could figure out a way through. To make her angry? To be gentle? But he could sense where _that_ precipice would lead, and he wasn't strong enough to try it. Whoever came to stay with her... maybe Carson would hire a doctor, someone to undo all the hack work Ned felt like he had done since they had started this insane trip.

Ned had been hoping that her sleepwalking would extend to bathroom trips, but he didn't seem to have any luck in that regard. Her eyes were closed when he dressed her in a waffle-knit henley and a pair of dark sweatpants. It was only when he glanced at his own reflection that he realized they were almost twins.

Breakfast was quiet. He divided the eggs swiftly and ripped the bacon into bite-sized pieces for her, and fed her two bites for every one he took.

He was draining the remains of his coffee when he saw her hand twitch, touch her fork.

His heart leapt again. "Nan?" he said cautiously, but she didn't look at him. Her hand dropped back to her lap so quickly that he could believe he had imagined seeing her move at all.

Brushing someone else's teeth was bizarre. Granted, everything he had had to do for her so far on the trip felt bizarre. He had to make four attempts before her ponytail looked anywhere decent. He had never brushed her hair before. The act seemed almost frighteningly intimate, or it would, if she responded at all.

It was after breakfast that the warning came back to him.

_and on that day, girlie_

_That_ voice was almost singsong. Ned wished he could remember where he had heard it. It was going to drive him nuts for the rest of the day, that was for damn sure.

He had felt it so strongly, the night before, that they had never been in more danger. That all the cautionary steps they had taken were for nothing. The fucking _mob_ was after her.

But the thought was ridiculous. They had been so careful.

Even so, he wanted a little reassurance.

Nancy wore socks. Putting shoes on her while they had been traveling had been awkward enough, and he hoped that if she did get it in her head to sleepwalk outside, her lack of shoes would discourage it. Ned led her to her bed, pulled back the covers, and helped her lie down.

"Try to get some rest," he said. Her eyes were already closed. He checked the windows, shutting out as much light as he could. "I'm gonna go into town, just... just gonna make sure everything's going okay. I'll be back soon."

He checked around the cabin before he left, just in case there were any obvious signs that someone had been watching _or_ that they were there, but once he pulled the car out, it looked deserted again.

He breathed out. Alone. Tomorrow he would be on his way back to Chicago, to his apartment, to his job. It would take a lot of explanation to smooth things over with his boss, he was sure. And Cindy. He hadn't spoken to her in days.

The thought of not seeing Cindy again, not speaking to her again, wasn't that disturbing to him, really. She was great for a few hours, but he just couldn't imagine taking her home to his parents, spending the rest of his life with her. He needed someone more stable, someone he could share himself with. Cindy never asked and it was just easier to leave it all to the side.

And that, he reminded himself, was another reason things would never have worked out with Nancy. Nancy _loathed_ talking about her feelings. She was never more energetic than when she was on a case, tracking down a lead, fully in her element, and she had never been more reticent than when he was asking her how she felt. She had never told him that she loved him without it appearing to take a massive act of will to do so, and for Ned, who could so easily speak the words when they were true, her reluctance had always read as insincerity.

If she had felt the same way about him as he had about her, she would have made time for him, not just taken him for granted. She wouldn't have been blindsided when he had met her in that coffee shop. She would have seen it coming.

_and on that day, girlie_

Ned twisted the radio knob, looking for a song to drown out the noise in his head.

He had wanted to put her behind him. Tomorrow she would be.

A part of him was glad. He could barely admit it to himself, but the longer he was around her, the more strongly he felt the temptation to do something foolish, something that would hurt them both. Dreams were just dreams, after all, and it made sense that she was still rattling around in his subconscious. He just needed to get out of this limbo with her.

This already felt like a lazy, slow nightmare, unreal, free of consequence. He needed to get out before he started believing it.

He gassed up the car while he was in town, shivering in his coat. Lip balm. She needed lip balm.

Carson answered Ned's call at the end of the first ring. "Hello?"

"Just checking in." The convenience store actually carried a lot of lip balm—cherry, strawberry, vanilla sugar, menthol. Ned poked through them, trying to remember what her lips used to taste like, then cut that train of thought off entirely.

"Everything going okay?"

"Everything's fine. She seems to be doing a little better—she actually walked to the window by herself last night."

"That's... that's fantastic." Carson let out a relieved sigh. "Talking?"

"No. Not yet. But I feel like she's getting closer to it." Ned picked up the vanilla sugar balm. "Just so I don't do anything rash, when do you expect whoever's coming up here..."

"To get there?" Carson gave a tired little chuckle. "I know it has to be a massive strain on you."

"It..." Ned looked down at the balm in his hand. "I'm happy to do it."

"Well, Hannah insisted on going up there. My diet will be shot to hell while she's gone, but at least Nancy will eat well. And Frank and Joe are between cases, and they have a lot of connections. She'll be in good hands."

"Frank?" Ned whispered.

"Hardy, of course," Carson completed. "I know he and Joe will only be able to spare a few weeks, but they think the world of Nan. Frank called practically begging to help out. Unless they run into any problems, they should be there in the morning, Hannah probably later in the day, but you'll be gone by then."

"Yeah," Ned agreed, his voice barely audible. The cashier was looking at him impatiently. Ned put the balm down on the counter.

"Again, Ned—I can never thank you enough for that, for getting her out of danger the way you did. I owe you so much."

"Sir—"

"Anything you need—legal advice, if your boss gives you grief for missing work, whatever, you just let me know."

Ned cleared his throat. "I will, sir. And... what I did... anyone would have done that."

"I don't agree," Carson said. Then he sighed. "Especially with... the situation between the two of you."

Ned couldn't answer.

"She would never tell you this, but your breakup... it affected her deeply. When you were so eager to help find her... well... I wish she could have seen that. It's clear that you two still care about each other."

Ned bit the inside of his cheek.

"Once she gets better..."

_If_ she gets better.

Carson let himself trail off, then cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. This is almost unendurable. I wish she was here with me. I just want her safe. _God,_ I wish I'd never taken this case."

Ned finally found his voice. "Me too, sir."

_Frank Hardy_.

Ned just sat behind the wheel of the car for a moment before he started back, finally letting himself think about what Carson had said. Frank Hardy. Frank helping her in the shower, touching her so intimately—

No. Ned had told himself there was absolutely nothing sexual about it, and there wasn't, it wasn't like that. It wasn't. And surely Hannah would handle all that, would take care of Nancy's showers and bathroom trips until she came back to herself again.

But Ned couldn't shake that mental image. It had been all Ned could do not to just say _oh fuck it, it'll just save time_, strip down and climb into the shower with her. And he was very, very familiar with the path his thoughts took after _that_ idea.

She was helpless, utterly dependent. Ned was strong enough to resist how fucking powerful that pull was, but Frank... Frank would easily slip into the role of hero, protector...

Ned shook his head. Somehow the scenarios he had used to prepare himself for the worst hadn't included this, but he had known her forever. She and Frank had always been close. They were so alike. It would be good for her.

Ned nodded firmly to himself. That's what he wanted. He wanted what was best for her, and Frank, if nothing else, was definitely able to hold his own in a fight. He was experienced and capable. She needed that.

He was just nervous about leaving her. Conflicted over not being able to really apologize to her. All those things. After he had left her here, in someone else's care, he wouldn't know for himself that she was okay—

He had to leave. He _wanted_ to leave. His reluctance was stupid.

_You're jealous._

Nancy's voice in his head sounded almost smug. "Jealous that he'll be locked in a cabin for days on end with nothing to do but play go fish with his brother?" Ned said to no one. "Jealous that he'll be the one terrified to go to sleep just in case he misses something—something else—"

She had sent that coded message to _Ned._ Not Frank, not her father, not Bess or George. _Him._

And if it were someone else coming to relieve him—someone like Simon—

Ned's stomach unclenched a little, at that thought. He wouldn't be worried about her if she were with Simon. Simon would keep her safe.

_Like Frank wouldn't._

Ned sighed and turned the radio up.

_and on that day, girlie_

"Shut _up_," Ned said, shaking his head.

_...it's clear you two still care about each other._

Ned choked out a sarcastic laugh. What the hell did Carson think he was doing? Obviously he didn't understand that Ned had moved on. He didn't understand that Nancy lived her life with one foot out the door and Ned couldn't do that anymore.

_Then why didn't you just shove Nancy's chair in the elevator instead of Bess's and follow the plan._

Ned hated that smug voice in his head. He had done the right thing. Carson had said so. Besides, putting her in the elevator would have just ended in a standoff...

_Of course. Of course it would have._

By the time Ned found his way back to the cabin, he was in a thoroughly bad mood. He was jumpy and irritable and felt like he would need to go for a good five-mile run to work off all this energy, especially because he didn't want to start screaming at Nancy.

Even though that small voice wondered if she could be goaded into speaking if it involved an argument.

He would tell her he was sorry tonight, regardless of whether she could hear him or not. He would leave her in good hands in the morning. His obligation was finished. He had earned Carson's eternal gratitude.

But his satisfaction felt grim and bitter.

His heart started beating faster when he negotiated the turn onto the road leading to the cabin, and it wasn't the prospect of seeing her again. No. It was just his nervousness at having left her alone. He hoped she had managed to get some rest.

He had a second chance to say goodbye to her. It just wasn't getting any easier.

A silver car was parked three cabins down from theirs. It hadn't been there when Ned had left.

He actually felt his blood turn cold.

He pulled back his foot to slam it down on the gas pedal—then thought better of it. If someone was inside, he would just be alerting them to his presence. Instead he went a little past their cabin, pulling off onto the shoulder.

No gun. He hadn't taken a fucking gun with him. He'd been afraid that if he had to speak to a policeman, the cop would ask for a permit and he'd be arrested and she really would be alone.

The shot he heard from the direction of the cabin was impossibly loud.

_Fuck it._ Ned set for the cabin at a dead run, his keys cold and biting into his palm. The side door slammed open.

"Hey!"

A man. Ned saw a man in silhouette, black leather jacket, hat pulled down over his eyes. His hand came up.

Gun.

Ned veered off to the right as the man fired. Ned's mind groped for anything he could easily grab—a rake, a spare piece of firewood, anything, _fuck_. He came up blank.

_Nancy. Oh God. Oh God._

_I should never have left._

The man glanced back into the cabin, then set off at a run, still aiming in Ned's direction.

Ned was so angry and afraid that he couldn't speak. His throat was closing up. He wanted to pursue the guy, beat the shit out of him, but if there was some chance she was still alive—

_Too late._

He caught the doorframe, slamming to a stop on the threshold.

A figure was sprawled, bloody, in front of the stove.


	10. Chapter 10

He couldn't believe it. Couldn't. No.

He was numb.

Then he turned, and saw what he had been realizing over the past few seconds.

The body sprawled on the kitchen floor had short light hair instead of long reddish-gold hair, no cast, different clothes. Not her.

Nancy was slumped against the opposite wall, the gun across her lap. He saw bullet holes in the sheetrock above her.

He flew to her side, the door still open behind him. What was the use? They weren't safe. They had never been safe.

"Nan? Are you okay?"

His fingers shook when he touched her. She was staring at nothing, but the gun had been fired. She had killed one of them, scared the other off.

She had killed someone.

And they had to get the fuck out of there before the guy in the leather jacket came back with reinforcements. Ned had no doubt he was only a scout.

Nancy's cheeks were wet.

"I'm so sorry, baby, I'm so fucking sorry, I should have been here," he said, brushing his thumbs over her cheeks. "We have to get out of here."

_and on that day, girlie_

He locked the door and loaded everything he could, as fast as he could, leaving the perishables behind. They could live on canned pasta for a while. They could—

What the _fuck_ could they do.

The lines. The lines had to be bugged.

And it wouldn't even have been hard to track them after that. Carson had told him everything over the phone.

Ned was still on his prepaid cell, which meant it had to be on Carson's end. And Carson had laid out every contact, every help Ned could need.

Within ten minutes Ned had everything he dared loaded up, Nancy buckled in beside him. Her cheeks were wet again, but that fixed stare in her eyes was more distant than ever.

Ned took a deep breath. He could go around the long way out of the neighborhood and risk being cut off, or he could brazen by the guy in the leather jacket.

_Shit. Shit. Oh fucking hell._

He drove as fast as he dared, steering with his knees, laying down cover fire, aware the entire time that if he slipped they were going to crash and it would all be over. He heard a few bullets smack into the car, but he gunned it anyway, praying that the shots had avoided the gas tank.

_Shit._

Ned pulled onto the interstate, the car roaring and rattling in protest, and called Carson.

"Hello?"

_Shit._ He couldn't do it. He couldn't. He couldn't do this to Carson.

He had to.

"I'm so sorry, I—I'm taking her to the hospital—" The hysteria in Ned's voice was barely feigned. His entire body was jittery with adrenaline.

"_Ned? What's going on_?" Carson sounded almost furious.

"She—there was a shootout, she was hit—I can't—oh _God_," Ned blurted out. "She's going to be okay, she _has_ to be okay—I'll call you as soon as we get there—"

"Who was it?"

"Who do you _think_?" Ned retorted. "Somehow they found us. I'm going to head north. Do you know anyone who can help me, that way?"

"I—I have to look it up. I'll call you back at this number. Three minutes, okay?"

"Three minutes," Ned agreed, panting. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._ "Thank you. I'm so sorry. She _has_ to be okay."

"Get her there as quick as you can. I'll call you."

"Thank you."

Ned hung up and took the phone's SIM card out—which was a bitch to do while he was driving—and threw the card out the window. Three miles later, he tossed the phone out as well.

He couldn't take any chances. He had seen what taking chances could do.

Carson was going to lose his mind. He'd scour the local hospitals looking for her, trying to find their trail.

Ned headed west, and whenever he glanced over at Nancy, her cheeks were still shining with tears.

He did everything he could, everything he could think of, but it was hard to think over the screaming panic he was feeling. Every second they weren't moving was a second the soldiers could be using to catch up to them.

Ned traded in the car at a small used car lot fifty miles away, leaving with a subcompact that made him feel incredibly unsafe. He traded in the subcompact a hundred miles later for a beat-up SUV.

When that didn't make him feel any safer, he took out his wallet and looked at the credit cards.

He couldn't trust any of them now. For all he knew, Carson had mentioned to the cops what identities they could be traveling under. If he used an ATM, they would _find_ him.

He hated doing it, but he stole a car from the parking lot of a large dilapidated warehouse store. Transferring their supplies took too long, and by the time he put Nancy into the new car, his gaze was locked to the store's front doors, but they escaped with no incident.

Her tears were dry now. She hadn't spoken.

_and on that day, girlie_

Ned's stomach started growling soon after. He hated stopping for food, but he needed a bathroom, and a map, and a car that wasn't going to be reported stolen any second now. He traded plates with a sedan in a discount store's parking lot, and that made him feel better.

And worse.

What the hell was he doing.

_You have to keep her safe._

He reversed into a partially covered spot in the parking lot of a large travel center, then took her inside. It was tricky, finding a window of opportunity to get her into the bathroom without raising eyebrows, but he managed it. He had her hair tucked under her hood; he bought a hat for her and tucked her hair up into it as he seated it firmly on her head. He had always loved the color of her hair, but it was unique enough to draw attention—and spark memories after they had left.

The image of a strawberry milkshake popped into his head.

He picked up a few more items—a couple of cheap oversized hoodies, the map he needed, jerky and M&Ms and energy drinks—and found the next fast food burger place. The server handed the strawberry milkshake through the drive-thru window and Ned accepted it gratefully. French fries and hamburgers.

He had no _time_ for anything else. No fucking time.

The walls started feeling like they were closing in on him. There was no fucking way he was going to manage this. No way. If he hadn't made it back when he had, if the guy in the leather jacket hadn't run away...

Ned pulled into a parking space and made himself just breathe for a moment. Then he rested the milkshake cup on her thigh and cupped her hand around it.

It took a moment, but he could hardly believe it when she slowly, her hand shaking, lifted the milkshake cup. He directed the straw to her lips and she took a hard pull.

He couldn't do this without her, without the benefit of her experience, and he knew that.

But maybe she wouldn't be gone for too much longer.

Even though he had been thinking about her every single second, he hadn't spoken to her in hours. It was hard to concentrate long enough to form coherent sentences.

"They had to have your dad's phone bugged," he told her, between french fries. "That's the only explanation. So everything up here, everything he would use, we can't. The fucking _cops_, Nan—when we found you, they were already moving you out. They were tipped off. I can't use any of the IDs we have. And until we figure something out, we're stranded up here, and I—I don't have all the resources anymore, I don't, and all they have to do is turn over enough rocks—"

Ned stared at the road in front of him, the cars zooming by as they sat in the parking lot.

_Frank._

He let himself think about that. Frank was infinitely more qualified than he was, for this. He could find some way to let Frank know where they were.

_Trade her off like an unwanted child._

He was so tired of running, and it wasn't going to end anytime soon.

And the guys pursuing them knew Frank was coming, thanks to the phone conversation Carson and Ned had had earlier. Frank and Joe would come to the cabin looking for clues once Carson told them he couldn't reach Ned anymore.

There had been no time to leave a note, and no point to leaving one. Tipping off the guys pursuing them about his awareness of the bugs wasn't going to do any good, and taking the chance that a coded message would be deciphered by the wrong people was too much of a risk.

Contacting Frank and Joe wasn't an option.

Ned was alone. And he couldn't let himself think about it. He had to be calm for both of them.

He had to find a place for them to hole up, and soon. Gas was too expensive for him to just waste it this way. They needed another cabin, stocked and loaded. And he would have to break in.

Ned rubbed his hand over his face. He had never enjoyed that aspect of helping her on her cases—just sitting in this car, knowing that a cop could catch him any second, was making his skin crawl.

Silence. Nancy wasn't sipping her milkshake anymore.

He turned to look at her. She was looking straight ahead, but the cup was back on her thigh.

Ned didn't feel safe stopping at a motel until the sun was well down, until the energy drinks were wearing off. He left Nancy in the car and went to the front desk, asking for a single room. If they were looking for a man and a woman traveling together, at least that wouldn't make it obvious.

The room was small and shabby, relatively clean. Ned led her in quickly, then brought in their bags. And they needed dinner. Damn it. He didn't have the supplies to heat up soup in their room.

His heart was pounding when he brought the gun over to Nancy, and he tipped her chin up so she was looking in his direction. He saw that a tear had just slipped down her cheek, and he brushed it away.

"Nan," he said quietly, "if anyone comes in while I'm gone... I won't be gone long, ten minutes at the most, but..."

He trailed off with a sigh. A part of him wanted to hide her in the bathroom; a part of him wanted to load her into the car with him again. But the prospect of leading her back out to the car was exhausting, and hiding her in the bathroom seemed undignified, somehow.

He came back twelve minutes later with their dinner. He was sure she had to be sick of hamburgers, so he had hit a Mexican fast-food restaurant and brought back a chicken taco salad for her and a bag of tacos for him.

The gun was across her lap when he walked in.

After dinner he took her into the bathroom, gently stripping her clothes off as he waited for the water to get warm. His heart beat painfully hard when his fingertips grazed too near her breasts or the join of her thighs, and again he remembered his jealousy when he had thought of Frank touching her this way.

He had thought this would be over in the morning. He wondered how much longer it would be, how long they could possibly last like this, how long it would take for men with cold eyes and semiautomatics to find them. How long it would be until he died beside her.

For the longest time, when she had been his girlfriend, that prospect hadn't scared him. Now, though, it would be for something so pointless... because, fuck, despite everything, this was a race he couldn't win, and he'd never be able to tell his parents he loved them again, he hadn't even been able to tell Nancy how sorry he was.

He looked up at her eyes, her open eyes. If anyone threatened her, he would destroy them. He would take a bullet for her. He had always known that. It didn't mean he was still in love with her. He would take a bullet for Bess or George, for his parents, for Carson. He would do anything to save the people he cared about from hurt.

And he did care about her; he would care about her until the day he died. Seeing her like this broke his heart. God, how he wished it could have been him instead. At least she would have been spared whatever had done this to her.

The sight of her bruises made him ache in sympathy again.

He realized that he was just standing there, with her naked in front of him, and he shook his head. He would have killed to have this opportunity when he was at Emerson.

But it wasn't an opportunity at all. She wasn't _there_. And they weren't together.

He wished he could just explain that to certain biological urges he was feeling. A good night of sleep and he'd be able to think clearer. Sure he would. It was just—

He didn't care what it was. He didn't care anymore. He was tired and he just wanted all of this to be over.

He finished her shower, dried her off and dressed her again, dried her hair. He tucked her into bed in a loose flannel nightgown, and when he realized his feet were cold, he put socks on her.

Then he took the coldest shower he could possibly bear.

He wanted a beer. He wanted a drink so badly that he could imagine the way it would taste against the back of his throat, but he couldn't risk being drunk while they were in so much danger.

He pulled out the map and figured out where they were, then circled a few likely towns. They needed to be within about an hour's drive of a city, just in case one of them was injured, but far enough away that they wouldn't be noticed.

He folded up the map and jammed it in the outer pocket of his duffel bag, then yawned hugely. He stripped off his shirt, unselfconsciously, and glanced over at her bed.

Her socks were on the floor. Her free hand was resting on top of the comforter.

He turned down the heat a little before he walked over to her bed. "Nan?" he asked softly, but she didn't open her eyes. For a second he let himself imagine that she was sleeping, really only sleeping, that in the morning she would open her eyes and be _there_ again, better again.

He reached over and turned off the lamp between their beds, then reached for her hand. He thought better of it before he touched her; he didn't want to disturb her.

"Good night," he whispered.

Then he almost cried out, because he felt her touch _him_. Her hand closed tight around his wrist.

Her eyes were open again.

"Nancy," he breathed.


	11. Chapter 11

The first thing Nancy was aware of when she regained consciousness was the chair. Her hands were tied behind her, very securely—she was very sure of that—and she was alone, shivering. Her upper lip was tight with crusted blood. She could feel it down her cheek and chin. The insides of her cheeks were bruised. In fact, very little of her _didn't_ feel bruised.

She didn't want to be here. She did _not_ want to be here. Not at all. Not in this room, not here, because the fear was enough to be paralyzing.

They were going to get it out of her. She was determined to never tell them, but she was also fully aware that they were going to force her to tell them what they wanted to know. Then—maybe before then, if they became frustrated or angry enough—they would kill her. Her only hope was to find another opportunity to let someone know where she was, to call for help.

At that thought, two tears slipped down her cheeks.

Ned was supposed to have come for her.

And oh _God_, even to the last second, she had been waiting to hear his voice. He would swarm in with a hundred cops behind him and find her, save her. She didn't care if he yelled at her for four days for putting herself in such danger as long as he came for her. Even while she had been carried out to the van and unceremoniously tossed in, even while they were on the highway, the tiny flame of her hope hadn't quite gone out.

But then they had come _here_ and the beating that followed had made the others feel playful in comparison.

_Maybe he didn't get the message_—

_Maybe he got it but he didn't figure out what it meant in time_—

It went around and around in her head because that was better than the third option, and better by far than contemplating what was going to happen the next time the door opened. He had told her he didn't want to be with her anymore, that as long as she was working the case they wouldn't be together.

_He wouldn't be that petty._

But she had nothing else to do than think about it and _oh_, she felt so low.

She told herself that she would have done anything to get him back, to make him see how she felt about him, but it wasn't true. Even if she had somehow excused herself from helping on her father's case—and she _loved_ the work, it was fascinating and like putting together an enormously tricky puzzle and together she and her father were finding patterns no one had thought to look for before—there would be another, like Tina's, and he would think that just because she couldn't say _no_, it meant that she didn't care about him or his time.

But there would always be another kiss, another embrace. She had never had any doubt of that, hadn't for the longest time. She had taken him for granted, and she knew that was foolish, but he didn't seem to understand that her love wasn't divided that way, that she cared for him differently, that to her he was set apart. She worked better when he was by her side, and finding out that he didn't feel the same way, that he didn't seem to understand how _right_ that was... God, that had hurt.

She loved him. Utterly. And she knew that regardless of what he did, she would never love anyone else, could never love anyone else, the way she loved him.

The words were impossible to speak. The feeling itself was worse. Telling him that the sun rose and set on him, that the weight of his gaze sparked a fire in her like none she had ever felt before? Bullshit, total and utter bullshit. Loving him made her feel weak and powerless. And now, naive and angry.

What if she had prostrated herself on the altar of his forgiveness and begged him to take her back? She would probably still be here, in the dark, waiting, blood on her cheek.

Another pair of tears slipped from her lashes. When she heard a noise at the door, she hastily rubbed her face against her shoulder. She would have plenty of time to feel sorry for herself later—although it wasn't doing her a damn bit of good. For now, she was just going to have to find the strength to get through another round.

The man who walked in wasn't the tall one with the smooth voice. This one was shorter, with close-cropped light hair. He tugged down his cuff and she saw the edge of a tattoo near his wristbone.

He didn't take the gag off her. The tall man always did—no point in asking questions if she wasn't free to answer.

So there were to be no questions, at least no questions which required an answer.

Her stomach gave a small involuntarily shiver.

"He paid up," the man said, and his lips curved up a little bit. He had a bland voice, with a knowing leer in it that made Nancy want to shrink as far back into the chair as she could, to fold her bones in on themselves until she was locked safe inside. "Your daddy paid up. So we gotta leave all your fingers and toes on you.

"Tell me he's the boy scout we all think he is. That he ain't gonna throw the trial just to save his precious baby daughter."

Nancy's eyes widened slightly before she was able to dampen her surprise. She should have guessed. The case was huge, and if they were using her as leverage that was obvious corruption...

The blond man moved closer to her and touched her cheek, and she felt that soft wavering. She had felt it when the tall man had struck her so hard that the chair had tipped backward and she had fallen to the concrete, unable to break her fall, unable to do anything other than cower under the blows. For a time, before that one punch connected hard and the terrible smack of the concrete against her temple had put her out for good, she had felt like she was outside herself, seeing but not seeing, feeling but not feeling. And she had given it all up, her ability to react or respond, hoping that it would keep that piece of knowledge out of his hands.

What did it matter, though, if her father threw the trial?

So they didn't believe it. If holding Nancy captive wasn't enough to make Carson throw the trial, what other fucking choice did they have, than to get—

Even in the privacy of her own head she didn't let herself think about it. Every time the tall man asked her where Ralphie Benetti was hiding, she had seen it in her head in black and white, it had been on the tip of her tongue, it had felt like it was fucking radiating out of her. That only clamping her teeth tight shut had kept it from coming out of her.

Because the beatings were supposed to end if she would only just _say it_, answer that and the other questions the tall man kept shouting at her.

The expression in the blond man's eyes was chilling. She had seen it before when confronting other criminals, far too many times for her liking, and oh, she wanted to send herself out of this. To get through it and to the other side and wake up in her own bed with her family and friends around her, swearing she would get better, that it was all just a bad dream.

This was all just a terrible dream.

"I'm gonna tell you a little secret, cupcake," the blond guy said. His lips were curved up again, and he craned his neck so that he filled her field of vision, so that she couldn't look away. "You're gonna keep all your fingers and toes and we'll make sure everything will heal... probably. Maybe we won't. What's he gonna do, demand his fuckin' money back?" The man chuckled to himself.

Nancy wasn't sure when last she had eaten, or slept, but pain and exhaustion seemed to be radiating through her in thick waves, and she could just loose her grip on all this, could just let herself go. Keep the nightmare one unbroken piece she could just leave behind later, shed like a damaged skin.

"But after the trial, right before we give you back? On that day, girlie—"

She couldn't stop herself from crying, then, at what he said next, but she cried silently. And oh, he loved it. He loved seeing the fear in her eyes when he spoke.

Ned had no idea where she was. He wasn't going to come through that door. He was _never_ going to come through that door and she was going to die here bleeding and broken—

She and Ned had been together for so long that sometimes she had known what he was going to do before he did it, knew what he was going to say before he ever opened his mouth. It was born of the thousands of hours they had spent together, the endless telephone conversations, the times they had needed to work together wordlessly to take down a criminal or thwart a plot.

Sometimes it had felt like more. Sometimes she had imagined that they were connected in a less tangible way, that even the thoughts she never could bring herself to speak, the feelings she could never put into words, he still knew anyway. That through the sheer force of her terror and her will she could draw him to her. He had told her that he would always care for her, that he would always be her friend, but she had never trusted it. Whatever he had thought, whatever he had believed, it wasn't enough.

For the rest of her life, though, however short it might be, he would have a piece of her. No one had known her the way he did, and no one ever would again. Maybe he felt the same way—maybe he didn't.

_How could it all be worthless to him, so easy for him to leave behind_—

She needed him, here, _now_. More than she ever had before. And he was out there, beyond all reach but this one.

She was insane, but for the space of a few seconds, she believed it was possible.

_Ned_. She thought it like heartbeats, as hard as she could, until the strain made her head pound. _Ned, please, please, I'll do anything, I'll give it all up forever if you will just walk through that door._

But he didn't.

The blond man squeezed Nancy's shoulder hard enough to bruise. "Don't forget, baby," he said, his voice low, and cocked a finger at her before he walked out.

And she was alone, silently screaming into the dark.

No one was going to save her.

She struggled. She struggled harder than she ever had before, struggled up until the second the tall man returned.

When he took the gag off it was all she could do not to let out the scream that had been pent up inside her since she had heard the blond man's words.

Before, she had only thought that her silence would buy her pain. Only pain. Bruises would heal.

That would not. That would never heal.

And when it happened, when that grip inside her loosed and the pain became something happening to someone else, she was glad for it.

* * *

Ned barely made it to the bathroom in time before he threw up.

_Oh shit, oh shit. Fuck._

He threw up everything and knelt there on the grimy linoleum for a moment longer, trembling a little, before he dragged himself to his feet and washed his mouth out, splashed his face with cold water.

He couldn't meet his own gaze in the mirror.

Nancy had touched him just after he had told her goodnight, and he could have sworn that she was _looking_ at him, but maybe he had just wanted that to be true too much. She hadn't responded to anything he had said.

And he had wanted to take her shoulders in his hands and shake her. He wanted to shout at her. _I can't do this without you, you have to come back, we are both going to die unless you come back to me._

He refused to even entertain the idea that some fundamental bit of her was out of place or broken and she would never come back to him as she had been. That possibility was inconceivable. He would _never_ recover from the guilt if that were true.

That _nightmare_. God. Despite the pain it caused later he preferred the dreams that involved them in bed, definitely not the awful image of her, bloodstained and terrified. When the blond man had said...

Ned spat viciously into the sink a few times until his gorge sank again.

_and on that day, girlie_

As horrifying as it had been, he wondered if any part of it had been true, if his subconscious had taken advantage of his exhaustion and fear to put some order on all the insanity that he'd been feeling over the past few days. That phrase, that half-remembered phrase from some movie he could no longer remember, coming from the lips of some cold-blooded mob soldier. Imagining that man had been threatening to hurt Nancy made the image of him in reality going cold on the cabin floor become both even more horrifying and even more gleefully triumphant.

If what had happened to her had been anything like that, Ned wished that _he_ could have been the one to pull the trigger.

And oh, oh _God._ The concrete, the blood. Even the memory of it made him feel sick.

He had to get some rest.

He dragged himself back to bed. On the way he couldn't resist glancing over at her bed.

Her eyes were open again.

* * *

When he woke the dream—the _nightmare_—was still in his head, and it seemed even sharper, somehow. He blamed that for his mood, the insistent pounding in his head.

They were going to die. He could feel it with every fiber in him. There was no point in running, in trying to escape. They would be hunted down.

Ned could only hope that he died first, that the sons of bitches didn't try to use him against Nancy or vice versa. Because _God_, if he had been in that room, watching that tall man beat the shit out of her, he would have torn his way through anything, done _anything_, to make it stop. Would have told a hundred lies or a thousand truths just to make it stop.

Would have revealed the location of the key witness in the prosecution's case just to make it stop.

He forced himself to smile when he saw Nancy. "I think we'll find somewhere today," he told her. "Somewhere to settle in and wait this out. I just wish I'd had the presence of mind to ask Hannah to bring your lockpick kit."

The morning was bitterly cold. Ned made her coffee the way she liked it and gave her the hollow stirrer to use as a straw, although part of him wondered whether he should be giving caffeine to her. She drank it easily enough, though, and God knew he needed it.

He was trying to remember the way her voice had sounded, the last time he had heard it. A little wistful, mature, lovely. He had always loved the sound of her voice.

_Loved_.

He was going to die beside her. The word he used to describe his feelings for her seemed incredibly unimportant.

But that fatalism faded, after coffee and hashbrowns and a biscuit. Ned pulled out the map a few times, making sure to keep her hair tucked up under her ballcap.

He couldn't ask anyone where the little-used vacation cabins were, unless he wanted them to be found within a day. He headed for what he hoped was a moderately populated lake, saw multiple stores in the nearby town advertising fishing bait and lures, and smiled grimly to himself.

Now. Now for the part that was going to suck the most.

Nancy had taught him a lot about breaking into places. The trick was to look like he knew what he was doing, to fight his urge to glance around and be furtive about it. People with legitimate excuses to go places didn't act furtive while they were there. Ned selected a cabin that was set off, apart, surrounded by moderate tree cover. It looked deserted.

He carried around a piece of paper and glanced at it every now and then, as though it listed directions, and looked under flowerpots, large rocks, doormats, hoping he wouldn't have to break a window to get in. He hit paydirt and opened the back door with the key.

Then he froze.

No. He could still smell recently-prepared food, and though it made his mouth water, it was too much of a risk. Recently cooked food meant that the occupant would probably soon be returning. At least he'd had the good luck not to interrupt while they were actually eating.

That thought was a little terrifying.

Ned was thoroughly spooked, and only the thought that they had to find somewhere to sleep that night kept him going. He tried another place but narrowly avoided running into the occupants. The third try was the charm, though.

Ned pulled the car around back and left her inside while he cautiously explored. All the surfaces were coated in a fine layer of dust, and he detected no signs of recent human occupancy. No odor of food and no steady electrical supply, either. He saw a small generator, though. At least getting that in order would distract him from the fucking nightmare he was stuck in.

It was when he was leading Nancy inside, through the back entrance, out of sight, that he realized he had only seen one bedroom, one bed. One couch. He took a cushion off to check, but it wasn't a sleeper sofa.

So one bed, then. At least the sofa was long enough to accomodate his frame. Most of it, anyway.

He couldn't bear the idea of leaving her in the cabin while he went for supplies, so he checked thoroughly. He found a few musty blankets, but no sheets, and he had no idea when the blankets had been washed, if ever. He didn't much care, but he imagined that she might, and was glad that he had bought the sleeping bags. And he had only been planning to stay with her another day, at the outside. They were going to need a lot more soup.

She gripped his hand hard as he led her back out to the car. "Just a little trip for supplies. Then we can figure out the game plan. Don't know how long we can plan on being safe here." He cast a glance at the cabin as he put the car in gear. "Maybe we won't," he muttered to himself.

No. He wasn't going to think that way.

He took her inside the small grocery store, trying to think of foods she might like that wouldn't require refrigeration—although, considering the temperature outside, he could probably fudge it with a cooler on the porch out of sunlight. He had a pretty good feeling about the cereal and the juice, and with the cap pulled low on her head, at least she didn't look like quite so much like he had just beat the shit out of her.

The cabin looked the same when they came back. He scouted it out anyway, checking the small rooms for any sign that anything had been disturbed, quickly. The most terrifying thing he could imagine would be going back out to the car to find her gone.

She was there, just as she had been, where he had left her. Sitting in the passenger seat, that damn ballcap on her head. Ned went down the back steps.

_Firewood. Under the tarp._

At the thought Ned turned around. He didn't see it until he was looking for it intentionally, but under the stairs, hidden in shadow, he could see a blue tarp. He pulled back a corner to see firewood stacked underneath. So at least he wouldn't have to prep any of that.

He carried in three armfuls, and when he came down to get her, he was brushing his arms off, but—

He hadn't seen that firewood earlier. He was sure it had been there when they had arrived, but he definitely hadn't seen it.

He shrugged and shook his head, opening the door. He must have, and only suddenly realized what that shape in the shadows under the stairs was, and what it probably meant.

He opened the car door and put a smile on his face, reaching for her hand to help guide her inside.

As soon as he touched her hand, she turned, and she wasn't looking through him anymore. Her blue eyes met his.

She was _seeing_ him.

His smile faded, and he found that he couldn't speak.


	12. Chapter 12

She gripped his hand hard all the way inside, but not for support. She was walking on her own, now, in regular strides, not like a sleepwalker anymore.

The groceries were still out in the car, but those could wait. They would keep.

She was awake. She was finally awake.

His heart was in his throat. She squeezed his hand hard, glancing around the cabin, but there were only two places to sit: the couch or the bed. She walked over to the couch and he sat down beside her.

It was thick in him, in his throat, prickling over his skin, but for a moment he was unable to look away from her. They had been together for three days, but she had been a shade of herself. Now that she was actually _here_—

He hadn't spoken to her, where she could actually respond, since Tina had vanished.

He cleared his throat, but what he wanted to say... it was too much.

Nancy looked into his eyes and he fell as silent as she had been. In her eyes he saw all of it, all the time they had spent together, all she had meant to him. He hadn't let himself think about it in so long, and now it was all he _could_ think about.

A part of him wanted to drown in it, in something other than the vascillating panic he had been steeped in since he had scooped her into his arms at the hospital.

But the memory of her skin under his hands was one thing when he was half-drowsed by the intoxication of sleep. Now, in the light of day, with her so close to him—no. No. He had decided, and it was better this way, better for them both.

"Are you okay?" he said quietly. "How do you feel?"

She looked away from him, biting her lip. _Hurts everywhere._

Of course she had to hurt. Her brow was creased with it. The bruises had faded just a little, but they were still terrible, and for a second he wanted to touch unbroken skin, wanted to comfort her somehow.

Instead he went to his duffel and found the painkillers. He shook out two and gave them to her with a bottle of water, and she took them quickly.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "I didn't know—"

She shook her head, her eyes watering as she swallowed the pills. He stood and realized he didn't know what to do with his hands, so he put them in his pockets and just lingered, looking down at her. Then he cleared his throat again.

"Guess I'll get the rest of the stuff out of the car."

He sorted their supplies, went into the bedroom and unrolled one of the sleeping bags for her, then came back into the main room. She was still sitting there. She had taken the ballcap off, and her red-gold hair was down past her shoulders now. God, how many times he had run his fingers through it—

Ned shook his head. He couldn't think that way.

Oh, the thousand times he had said goodbye to her, with kisses, with shy smiles, with his arms wrapped tight around her. That was the constant with her, that there would always be another goodbye.

This goodbye. This long goodbye. Because this endless chase was going to end in their death, or their separation, that one long glance at her blue eyes to keep with the rest of his memories of her.

Ned sat down beside her, but he couldn't make himself smile. Because he had to say it.

"Nan," he whispered, looking down at his hands. "I'm so sorry. I'm so damn sorry."

Nancy reached for his hand with her good one, and for a second he thought that she was trying to give him comfort through her touch, that she had forgiven him so easily.

And then her fingers closed around his wrist.

_I waited for you and you didn't come._

Ned's eyes widened. His face snapped up and his gaze locked on hers, and the expression in her blue eyes was enough to break his heart all over again.

_You didn't come for me._

He shook his head. "I don't understand," he whispered.

_YOU LEFT ME. WHY DIDN'T YOU COME?_

Her voice was so loud it trembled in his head. Guilt and fear and confusion. "Nancy?"

Her eyes were shining. She blinked and two tears slipped down her discolored cheeks. She snatched her hand away from his and wiped impatiently at her face, then looked away.

His head started to pound.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I'll tell you a thousand times if it will help. I'll do anything. I'm so sorry, Nancy. I wish I'd been there. I wish to hell that I'd—that I saw it when you sent it, that I figured out what it meant in time..."

She shook her head and stood up. The bathroom door closed hard behind her.

He had tried to prepare himself for this. But he hadn't been, not at all.

Ned closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch. The headache was throbbing behind his eyes. He took a few painkillers, hoping that would help.

Her voice in his head.

Ned shook his head. He had just been imagining that. He'd been interpreting the anger and hatred in her eyes, and he was sure he wasn't far off.

He told himself that he deserved it, even though he felt like all he had done for her had to count for something. He had done _everything_.

_Yeah, because that's even. Helping your exgirlfriend take a shower is the same as getting the shit beat out of you, day after day._

But what the fuck could he do, go back in time and undo it all? Throw Cindy out and wait for her text?

The headache was getting worse.

Ned ran his hand through his hair and looked around. The generator. The cabin was chilly, and at night Ned was sure it was only going to get colder.

A small part of him, still defensively angry at her, wanted her to come out and tell him that as far as she was concerned, he was free to go—even though she hadn't yet spoken, at all. The mob guys were only after _her_. She had a lot more experience with this kind of thing than he did. She would be able to find a hole and pull it in behind her. She'd be able to find a way to get in touch with Frank, and traveling alone would be easier.

_No it won't._

He couldn't be around her.

But if he left now, they would find her that much more quickly.

Ned let out a frustrated sigh.

* * *

He spent the afternoon with the generator, taking his time because he wanted to give her time to cool off. That was what he told himself. But he didn't want to go inside and see the accusation on her face.

He wavered between anger and guilt the entire time. It had been easier when he had apologized and she had just been there beside him, blank. He had imagined her grateful, once she woke. That all of it would have faded for her, all that terrible time she had been captive. That she would thank him for shooting the men who had been ready to take her away.

But she had been unconscious in the backseat, he remembered. She didn't know.

Like that was going to change anything.

Ned shook his head. The generator was going to be loud. It might attract attention. But then smoke from a fire definitely would.

Ned wanted to throw something. He wanted to go out to the car, to just drive and drive. If she was so angry at him, leaving would solve that problem. He had apologized. He could apologize a hundred more times and if she wasn't going to forgive him, she wouldn't, and nothing he could do would change that.

_It's better this way._

Then why didn't it feel better. He shouldn't care. She was a friend and he was doing a favor.

This was all it had ever been, to her.

* * *

Every damn inch of her hurt.

Nancy looked at her reflection in the mirror. She couldn't remember all these bruises, but then large stretches of her memory seemed to be missing entirely. She had no idea what day it was, or where they were—

_Ned._ She had been so desperate to see his face, to hear his voice, and now that he was here with her, she wanted to hurt him. If he had found her in time...

Nancy's eyes welled up with tears again. Two slipped down before she was able to master herself. God, her head hurt, more than anything else.

Her fucking arm was broken. She was pretty sure she could remember how that had happened.

When she came out of the bathroom, Ned wasn't there, and for a second, until she saw the car was still outside and his bag was still near the couch, she thought he was gone.

Part of her was glad. Most of her was terrified.

In the small bedroom she found a sleeping bag, already unrolled, and a duffel bag. Some of the clothes were hers; most were clothes she had never seen before. Pads, a hairbrush, toothbrush and toothpaste.

_Pads?_

She shook her head wearily. Her head was still pounding, and she decided to lie down for a while. Maybe that would help.

She had no idea how long she slept, but when she woke her mouth tasted awful and her stomach was growling a little. She hadn't gone to sleep hungry.

How the hell had she eaten earlier? It was all a blur, for her. Snatches of conversation. The sudden uncomfortable feeling that Ned had been with her in the shower, that he had been—_touching her_—

She flushed a little and ran her fingers through her hair, maneuvering awkwardly with the cast, and opened the bedroom door, her eyes still a little bleary with sleep. Ned was sitting on the couch, a bowl in his hand. When Ned heard the door open, he turned, and their gazes met.

She wasn't sure why she thought so, but she had been with him a long time, and she could tell when he was trying not to be angry.

Wordlessly Ned made her a bowl of soup, and she took it with a little nod. They sat on the couch, almost as far apart as they could get. Getting the cap off the water one-handed was irritating. Eating soup with her non-dominant hand was irritating.

Ned's silence was irritating.

The headache had eased off a little, though. She seemed to discover another bruise every time she moved or touched anything.

Ned put his soup bowl down, then took some of the wood and stacked it in the fireplace. When he was finished he stood staring down at it for a moment before he spoke.

"If we have a fire tonight, people might notice," he said. "The generator's loud, though. And we'll need some way to keep warm." His voice was tight. "I don't... I don't know what you want to do."

There was such terrible stillness in her, smothering the terror underneath. She hadn't spoken in what felt like years.

_Where are we?_

He didn't respond, and she remembered. Touching him earlier had seemed to work.

Touching him. She never wanted to touch him again. He had left her. No matter what, for the rest of her life and ever after, she would remember the utter despair she had felt when he had walked out of her life, when she had known that he wasn't going to save her. She could never trust him again. Sitting calmly in the same room with him was a struggle.

No matter how many times he had told her that loved her, she was going to remember that. She was going to remember him telling her that the time she could devote to him wasn't enough, that _she_ wasn't enough for him. She was going to write that down, to hold her back whenever she remembered all he had been to her, how deeply she loved him. If he wasn't happy, it was up to her to let him go. Make sure the hurt was sooner rather than later.

It was clearly a struggle for him to be in the same room with _her_, as well.

Ned sighed and turned around, and she reached for his hand. He hesitated perceptibly before letting her brush his fingertips with hers. Then she squeezed his hand.

_Where are we?_

Ned shook his head, something between wonder and fear on his face. She didn't understand it either. She just remembered how, in her delirium and terror, she had reached out to him so intently that it had almost hurt.

It had happened too late to save her, but apparently that attempt had eventually borne some kind of fruit.

But he told her where they were, aloud. When he asked if she wanted to hear the story from the beginning, she nodded, and kept holding his hand as he told her about tracking down the lead to where she was, coming in with a squad of cops at his back, taking down the men who were about to leave with her before she was rushed to the hospital.

Parts of it, somehow, she saw through his eyes. Felt his panic when he had bent to her, giving her mouth-to-mouth, praying that she was going to breathe again.

When he told her that the blond man had disguised himself as an orderly and come after her with a syringe, she started shaking.

"Nan... it's okay. He didn't get you. I thought something was off about him, and managed to restrain him so the cops could get in."

She nodded, slightly, and he tilted his head, then continued. The shootout in the hospital lobby, his split-second decision to take her out of danger. Carson's suggestion that they head for Canada, for his friend's cabin.

"I went in to town to call him and when I came back, a man in a black leather jacket was just leaving the cabin, and you... you were sitting in the kitchen, gun on your lap. The blond guy was dead, basically at your feet."

Her eyes welled up again as she saw it. Sprawled limbs, a deep red patch in the middle of his shirt. _Oh God._

Ned nodded. "You don't need to worry about him anymore."

She wanted so, so much to hug him, but instead she tightened her grip on his hand. He took a breath, then hugged her, briefly.

The rest of it she could figure out, although she was dismayed to hear that Ned was sure her father's phones were bugged, and that Ned hadn't been able to tell Carson where they were. If the plan had gone as scheduled, she would be with Frank and Joe and Hannah in the first cabin, and Ned would be home.

Nancy felt the soft shiver of disappointment Ned experienced when he told her that. So that was what he wanted, to be on his way home, away from all of this. _Nightmare_, he kept calling it.

He had come to help out from the beginning, before she had even sent him that text message. But this... he had never bargained for this. Of course he hadn't. He had never liked this side of it.

Ned sighed. "Do you want to stay here?" he said. "Nan, I'm just afraid that wherever we go, it will only take them a matter of time to find us. I... I fucking stole a car, swapped license plates... broke into this damn cabin. Your dad wired money, but eventually it's going to run out. And..." He trailed off.

_What do you want to do?_

He shook his head, and his lips weren't moving, but she heard his voice in her own head. _I don't want to run anymore. If they're going to find us, I'd rather have a plan. Be ready. Not be desperate, not make stupid mistakes._

_So we need a plan_, she thought.

The faintest smile touched his lips. _Yes._

* * *

Ned felt so exhausted, but he couldn't sleep.

He had insisted that Nancy take the bed, but ten minutes after she had gone to the bedroom, she came back out again and told him he could have it. She wasn't going to sleep, she told him silently—in that soft voice, the one that somehow managed to ring between his ears, to vibrate there until he ached from its echoes.

The cabin was cold. It had crept up on him, while he had lingered in some twilight between awareness and sleep. He sighed and unzipped the sleeping bag.

After a trip to the bathroom, he found Nancy sitting on the couch staring at the fire, the sleeping bag draped over her legs. He debated for a moment, then sat down beside her.

He reached out to her, palm up, and she waited a breath before putting her hand on his.

_You have to sleep, Nan._

She shook her head. _I can't._

Ned ran his hand through his hair. _Come on_, he told her, tiredly. _The bed's more comfortable._

She brought her sleeping bag with her, and her eyes were heavy when she sat down at the side of the bed. She unzipped her bag as Ned moved to collect his.

Then she reached for his hand. _The bed's more comfortable, so why don't you lie down._

_Nan..._

_I will too._

He noticed that as long as they were touching, the headache held off, and he felt light, almost delighted; the longer he and Nancy engaged in their speechless communication, the worse the headache was when they finally parted. She spread her unzipped sleeping bag over his and they slipped between, his hand reaching for her good one.

_Why can't you sleep?_

They still weren't easy around each other—he was pretty sure they never would be again—but at least she was speaking to him, in some manner. She gazed up at the ceiling.

_I killed a man._

_A man who had threatened to rape you. Who was threatening you with a gun._

Nancy looked over at him. _How did you know—he..._

_The dream. The dream I had. Was it real?_

She closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded, and he saw that tears were slipping down her cheeks.

"Don't cry," he whispered, feeling miserable. "Nan..."

He hesitated for a second, but then he reached for her. The image of the blond man, the terror she had felt when he had come near her, was so loud inside her.

He pulled her to him and she rolled onto her side, burying her face against his chest.

When they were touching, skin against skin, the sensation was almost euphoric, but this felt like _more_. He stroked her hair, whispering to her, thinking to her that she was safe, that he wasn't going to let anything happen to her, that she had acted in self-defense...

Her pajama shirt had ridden up a little at her waist, and their skin touched there.

And, somehow, he couldn't stop it.

He didn't know which one of them moved first and he didn't care. The more skin-on-skin contact they had, the more amazing it felt. Their legs tangled, her shirt slid up, and when he stroked at her hips, pushing her pants down, she slipped out of them relatively easily.

It reminded him of Emerson, of time they spent together after frat parties. The touch of her skin had been intoxicating then, too, but this was so different.

He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't care.

His lips brushed some unbruised skin on her jaw, his arm looped over her. He could feel her relaxing into it—

That hadn't been the only time the blond guy threatened her, not by far. The tall man's threats were almost worse. He told her he would find everyone she cared about and destroy them right in front of her unless she told him what he needed to know.

He hadn't seen a tenth, a _hundredth_ of what she had gone through, in that single dream, but _that_ had been enough to send him stumbling into the bathroom, horrified and sickened by it all.

Her shirt was off. He didn't know how the hell that had happened.

He breathed her name. "It's okay, it's okay," he whispered. "It's all right."

She was crying again, and he had to make her feel better. His lips brushed her neck.

_You're safe._

The euphoria curled into him, drawing him so high, and when they were so close her voice in his head seemed to come easier, his entire connection to her seemed easier. And with that ease came the terror and fear and anger, so clear they felt like his own. She was hurting. She was hurting and he could have stopped it...

Ned didn't know how it had happened. His fingers were looped over her hip, and he had caught the waistband of her panties between. He needed _more._ More contact. _More._ Needed to show her how sorry he was. How much—

She pulled back, shivering, her face wet.

"No," she whispered, then gasped in a short breath. "_No._"


	13. Chapter 13

As soon as they parted, Ned crashed, _hard_. It hurt to open his eyes; it hurt to even think.

The desire was fading, but it was still there.

He didn't trust himself to look back at her as he slowly, gingerly, pulled himself off the bed and headed for the bathroom. The cold water against his face hurt. He stumbled into the main room and shook out some more painkillers, desperately gulping down water. _Fuck_.

He had very nearly just supremely fucked up.

But she had spoken. Out loud.

Ned shook his head and grimaced hard at the pain he felt as a result. Part of him was still fighting it, trying to blame it on some sort of shared hysteria and his exhaustion and how strongly he wanted her to be present again. This wordless communication wasn't quite the same thing as _present._

He sat down on the couch and took a deep breath. Being away from her, he could think a little more clearly.

They needed a plan.

Maybe the soldiers would only attack if they were separated. So they shouldn't separate. He took a mental account of the guns he had brought from the first cabin, the ammunition. If it came to a shootout they were at a distinct disadvantage anyway. Nancy's dominant arm was in a fucking cast. The cabin could be surrounded fairly easily.

_Where? Where the fuck can we go, we don't have a fucking bomb shelter to hide in._

The people chasing them didn't have endless resources. Ned tried to think, but the painkillers hadn't touched the pounding in his head at all.

He needed to make it more attractive to them to _stop_ coming after Nancy.

But did they want her _back_, or did they want her _dead_?

He laid down on the couch and the darkness above him pulsed in time with the pounding in his head, and he imagined some elaborate scenario involving an unclaimed corpse, a crashed SUV, a forged identification. Faking her death.

He tried to imagine her going along with that, and fought down a laugh. She absolutely never would. She would never give up her life just because it was in danger.

Distantly he had always thought that the trial would end the danger she was in, but he considered that idea. If there was some deadline on their pursuit, if they needed to kill her or get her back before the conclusion of the trial, then the end of the trial _would_ serve as their escape. He knew that Carson had done his best to speed it up, but it was a huge case. It could take a month. More. A month of living this way.

Ned ran his hand through his hair, closing his eyes.

If they managed to stay away until after the trial, if they came home...

He wondered how long it would take, and who it would be. If in fifteen years she would turn a corner into a parking garage and see a man pointing a silenced gun at her face. Retribution for what she had done, or _hadn't_.

They needed leverage. Immense leverage they could use to keep her safe.

What if, in her absence, they were going after Carson.

Ned almost cried out in despair. He was powerless, fucking powerless in this. Every road was a dead end and he could feel the people after them getting closer with every passing moment.

For a second he wished he could undo it all, take back his choice to take her across the border with him, but he didn't mean it. If Nancy had to be in this kind of danger, incapacitated as she was, he was glad he had tried to help.

He didn't want her dead. He wanted her safe and as far from him as she could possibly be. Because now that she was awake, it was all unfolding in him again, seducing him into believing it would be different this time.

It wasn't that Anna or Cindy were any better than Nancy was. Far from it. He had been with her so long that every word she spoke, every movement she made seemed to speak to something hard-wired into him, awakened protectiveness and desire and fear.

He had known. He had known soon after he had met her that hers was not going to be a quiet death in a solemn bed. She was going to take an impossible chance, trusting incredible odds to hold her, and step out only to find that the safety net was gone and the wire had snapped. And he wasn't built that way. He would always try to hold her back.

What had just happened between them, what had almost happened between them—no. No.

He could fall back into this so easily.

But there would always be another case. No matter what he did or how hard he begged—he remembered pleading with her not to take Tina's disappearance on—she was going to do what she wanted.

And he could be there to watch her burn, or he could walk away before her death tore him apart. He could hope that he could run far and fast enough, that he could let the terrifying, consuming passion he felt for her fade until it could no longer destroy him. And in his life there would be a handful more Cindys and a hundred more Annas and never again the terrible obsessive desire he felt for Nancy.

His penance.

If he could walk away from her after this, it was done. His forty days in the wilderness would be over.

He tried to feel good about that. He tried to imagine life as it would be, with her. Always waiting on the call to tell him she had fallen. Tracing every new scar with his fingertips, kissing away pain that would never play itself out.

He was damned. He had always been damned. And whatever he did, he would feel that space inside him.

He closed his eyes, praying that when he woke his headache would have faded, and let himself drift away.

Some version of him had never met her. Some version of him was at home in his apartment, some beautiful girl asleep beside him, having never known any of this.

And there was nothing he could do. He couldn't undo this, couldn't undo her. He would always ache.

His penance.

He had always known that if he had to, he would die for her.

He had just never wanted it to be this way.

* * *

_I think we have to go back._

Ned had looked hungover when Nancy had walked out of the bedroom, having struggled into a fresh shirt and a pair of leggings. Putting toothpaste on a toothbrush, tying her sneakers... everything was frustrating. Driving her Mustang would be a bitch.

She would drive it again. Between the two of them, she and Ned could find their way back. And the longer she had thought about it, after he had retreated to the couch—

She didn't know what had happened between them the night before, and thinking about it made her uncomfortable. Ned had touched her that way before, although it had always been preceded by kisses and whispers of love, but the night before had been desperate. She had wanted him. She had wanted to let him in—

And then she had been sure that it would kill him, that letting him see into her would prove too much for him. This _thing_ between them, she couldn't understand, and part of her didn't want to. It would only make things harder, later.

His lips brushing her skin. Last kiss.

_The long goodbye, _she thought.

He could hear her now, if she directed her thoughts to him, even without touch, but it felt like calling across a busy crowded room.

It was easier with touch and despite the discomfort of it, she gently rested her fingertip against the side of his hand.

Immediately the frown creasing his brow evened out. She could feel the pain that had been throbbing in his head ebb away, and it was—it was because of what had happened between them the night before.

It had felt like being drunk for her, too. Their parting had left her painfully aware, but not aching the way he had been, the way he still was.

_They're going to keep coming after us,_ she thought to him, watching his face relax.

_Do you know what they want?_

She nodded.

Ned blinked. _You... you spoke last night..._

She drew her fingertip away from him and he actually grimaced. She touched him again and it was like an instant drug, his relief was so quick.

_This is hurting you._

_Just a minute more._

The pain was in the anticipation.

She looked away from him. _At least in Chicago, at home, I have resources. A safe house. I can't... we can't go on like this, waiting. And I need to talk to my dad. I know what they want from me, and that's important._

_Nan, if you go back to Chicago..._

He didn't have to verbalize it; his anxiety was clear. No more pairs of soldiers, no more potentially equal standoffs. They would come after her with everything they had.

_But at least there I have a chance._

I. I.

As soon as they walked into the city she knew he was going to tell her goodbye. Again. Again forever. There would be no lie this time about trying again in six months. After this, his patience with her would be spent.

She gently ran her fingers through his hair and stared hard at the fireplace to keep from crying.

Ned sighed. _If that's what you want..._

_That's what I want._

_Today?_

_How long will it take?_

Ned did some quick calculations. _The fastest would be two and a half days, if we stick to main roads. Longer if we take back ways._

_We could fly._

_All our cover IDs have probably been compromised. I don't think we should take the risk. Even on separate flights, your cast—_

_We could take it off—_

Ned shook his head and grimaced when her hand slipped away from him. He sat up, waving her off when she partially reached out again. "We are not fucking taking your cast off. The break was bad. Do you want to fuck up your arm forever?"

His brown eyes were hot when he gazed at her.

His anger was easier to deal with.

_Fine. Three days._

"And someone's going to need to bring you in from the cold," he pointed out, standing up. The small frown lines were back between his brows. He stretched, then ran a hand through his hair, sending it into disheveled waves. "Let me get dressed, then I'll make some breakfast."

_I can—_

Ned shook his head. "It's cereal bars and coffee," he shrugged.

* * *

It did feel like a hangover. They wore sunglasses—Ned hadn't thought about sunglasses before, when he had been taking care of her, but then her eyes had been closed most of the time anyway—and they didn't talk much. At lunchtime, without asking, he ordered her a strawberry milkshake.

Their fingers brushed when she accepted it, although he didn't let his touch linger on her. Even that rippled through him, momentarily intensifying the ache in his head.

_How did you know?_

He smiled slightly. _I think you wanted them a lot while we were traveling before. We would stop for food and I'd see a picture of a strawberry milkshake in my head._

It took another twenty miles, with her eating one-handed, gazing out the window, before she asked.

_You... you did a lot for me. While I was... gone._

Ned colored a little. _You weren't... aware, of anything, it seemed like._

_Did I do anything by myself?_

_You'd... _Ned shook his head. _Well, I didn't have to—get any diapers for you—if I got you into a bathroom..._

Nancy blushed. _You had to clean me up. You—showers?_

Ned's flush deepened. "I had... nothing happened," he said. "I swear. I was wearing clothes the whole time."

"Oh." He glanced over at her in surprise, and she cleared her throat, but fell silent again.

"Do they want you dead?"

She shrugged slightly. _They want to know where one of the witnesses is hiding. They want to go after the key parts of the prosecution's case, get the whole thing untied so they can get an acquittal. As long as I'm out here and they don't have me, they don't have their leverage over Dad, and they're in the dark. Killing me..._ She shook her head. _I don't know. Throw another murder charge on the indictment. But they won't leave proof, or witnesses. If they decide I'm more of a liability to them, they won't hesitate._

_I was pretty sure._

She reached up to touch her hair and her fingers ran into the ballcap.

Now that he had a real deadline, a definite length of time until it was over, part of him wanted to hurry, to get her back to her father before he made some stupid mistake.

But, if this was the end, it seemed worthless to end it so quickly. He had done everything for her, for what felt like a month now. This was no casual meeting in a coffee shop.

She must have picked up on the drift of his thoughts. Half an hour later she said, with an artificially casual air, _So you're seeing someone else._

_I was. Probably not anymore. I don't know._

But, if Cindy was available, Ned admitted to himself that he would see her again. She was good at making him forget. And this, he very much wanted to forget.

_We need to get across the border. And we have no usable papers._

_I have an idea, about that. It'll take a detour._

* * *

Ned was going to stand guard, but once Nancy figured out that she was going to be insanely slow working only with one hand, she had to draft Ned to help. They ended up with two sets of documents that would, with any luck at all, get them across the border. If they failed, well, Nancy would find another way.

Ned checked into a motel room, telling the clerk he was traveling with his wife and two infants. They had left most of the canned supplies in the cabin as an apology for breaking in, but had kept cereal bars, chips, other snacks to keep them going on the road.

She had spoken all of five words aloud that day.

"Is there something wrong with your throat?" Ned asked mildly, as he sorted through his duffel for some clean pajamas. "Is it... are you having trouble remembering how to talk?"

Nancy shook her head. She was perched indian-style on the bed furthest from the door. After being inactive so long, the day of traveling had worn her out.

She motioned him close, and saw the wary look that briefly crossed his face before he was within her armspan. She knew it was dangerous, too. Being so close to him, near a bed...

They were adults.

They hadn't even done this when he was working with her on cases, hadn't split a hotel room like this. But he had seen her naked. Very few barriers were left for him to cross.

_When they were hurting me... _Nancy was mortified to find that her eyes were pricking again. She hated crying. She wasn't weak. This wasn't her.

But she had never gone through anything like what had happened during her kidnapping.

_When they were hurting me I knew that eventually I would break and tell them what they needed to know, and the only thing that would keep me alive was not telling them. And if I was lucky, they wouldn't just get impatient with me and kill me. They told me they were using me as leverage against Dad..._

_There was a day when the tall man came in and beat me and the chair tipped over, and my head..._

Ned nodded. _You... you kind of disassociated._

She nodded, her eyes widening a little, until she remembered the dream. And he had somehow _seen it_ with her.

_It was easier to do, after that. To feel like it was all happening to someone else. And then it _was_ happening to someone else. I couldn't feel it anymore._

_It was the only power I had._ She looked down and a tear struck her lap. _The only thing I could do was _not_ speak._

_But they're not here now,_ he pointed out gently.

She shrugged a little. _They are,_ she thought quietly. _They're here. They will be here... and even after they're gone, they will be here. The blond man..._

Ned leaned forward, cupping her bruised cheek gently, and _oh_, it was stealing over her again. The desire to do something she shouldn't.

_He's gone. He'll never come after you again._

He released her, moving away from her self-consciously, and after a hasty dinner they took separate showers. Ned helped her wrap her cast and told her, looking away from her as he did, that he would help her if she needed anything. But she set her mouth, determined to do it herself. She would need to do it herself once she was home, after all.

It was hard, though. Washing her hair, keeping the soap in her hands. She rinsed between her thighs and thought of him doing that, and flushed again.

Blow-drying her hair was an ordeal, so she gave up, towel-dried it as best she could, and went back into the main room. Ned was on his bed, watching television intently, as though he hadn't seen it in years.

_We'll be leaving early._

"Yeah," Ned said idly, then glanced up, realizing what he was doing. "Thought we try to make good time tomorrow. Stock up on Red Bull and get across the border."

She nodded, awkwardly tucking herself into her bed. He was wondering if the television was disturbing her, but she told him it wasn't; she just lay there, looking up at the ceiling, until he sighed and switched it off, then turned off the lamp between them.

"Good night," he said, after a little pause.

_Good night,_ she replied.

With his every breath she could hear him telling her goodbye again.

_Ned?_

"Hmm?"

She swallowed. "Please come here," she said, her voice rusty and halting.

He was out of bed immediately. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, but he couldn't see that in the dark, so she reached for his wrist.

_Lie down with me._

She could feel his reluctance immediately. "Nan... I shouldn't," he said. "After..."

_Last night,_ he didn't say, but she felt it.

_Just for a little while,_ she thought. _Just until I fall asleep. Please._

And deep, so deep that he couldn't hear it, as he wavered, she thought, _If you're going to leave me, at least give me this._

He let out a little sigh and slipped into the bed with her, and she rested her palm over the thin material of his t-shirt. Their skin wasn't quite touching, and she hoped the proximity would help relieve his tension without making it worse when they parted.

He was in pain over her. He had been in pain over her for a long time, and she had just never let herself acknowledge or believe it.

He had done so much for her. But what had been between them... oh, she had let it slip through her fingers. She should have fought for him, shouldn't have let him leave so easily.

But he had left her. Left her to the wolves. And that could never be undone.

She closed her eyes, but Ned was already asleep.

He had already figured out how to let her go. Now she just had to figure out how to do the same.


	14. Chapter 14

"So. Mr. and Mrs. Ashford."

Nancy and Ned smiled at the border guard. "Yes," Ned said. "Just coming back from our honeymoon."

"Surely you didn't have to walk around with a cast on your wedding day?" The guard flipped through their papers, then checked the registration against the car's tags.

Nancy cleared her throat. "Oh no," she said. "It was my fault. Scott took me on this gorgeous carriage ride in Montreal and when I was climbing down, I lost my balance."

The guard clucked his tongue. "I hope you didn't let it ruin your trip," he said, glancing at them with the barest smile. "Hope to see you back soon."

As soon as they pulled through, Nancy let the smile drop from her face.

The guard had motioned for her to take her cap off, and she didn't put it back on. She kept an eye on the rearview, though.

A dark blue SUV had been behind them for the past twenty miles.

Nancy slipped her fake wedding ring, a cheap piece of costume jewelry from a discount store, off and into the cupholder, just in case she needed to slip it back on quickly again.

"They're still there, aren't they."

Nancy checked the side mirror. "What do you want to do?" she asked.

"Get off in the next town, see if they follow."

"And if they do?"

He glanced over at her. "Any suggestions?"

Nancy didn't know how she was going to get through leaving him. It was too familiar, this growing ease between them.

The blue SUV followed. Nancy studied the map, then touched Ned's hand; it was easier than explaining to him aloud what she thought they should do. He held back a little, then cut through an intersection just as the light changed from yellow to red. He poured on the speed, then took a service road entrance into a shopping mall complex. He reversed into a spot at a large Chinese buffet restaurant, and they waited.

"They know where we're going," Ned pointed out.

She touched his hand again. _If they can get me before they get there... That's their last chance._

_So this is only going to get worse._

She tilted her head. _Do you want to split up?_ She had no idea how she kept her mood even.

Ned shook his head. _I'm not going to leave you a sitting duck._

They sat there, and she drew her hand back, settling it in her lap. Her stomach was twisting into knots. For a second she considered looking for someone to serve as a decoy, but if it worked, if the soldiers caught up with people impersonating them, she wouldn't be able to live with herself if those people were hurt.

As long as Ned was with her, he was a target.

Ned tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "What did I just say?"

Her smile faded before it could touch her lips. He had already put himself into so much danger for her. And he hated this.

She needed to stop it, now. Stop touching him, stop letting herself think this was ever going to be anything else.

"We need to get to an airport."

"Nan, that's too dangerous—"

"Not for a flight. And we need to hit another print shop."

"You think these were compromised in, what, twelve hours?"

She shook her head. "If they're tracking us, they have our tags—our Canadian tags—and they can contact the rental place and get our names. We can't take any chances."

_I won't take any chances if it could hurt you,_ she thought. She was imagining the distance between them, hoping it would be enough to keep her head out of his, keep her thoughts from reaching him. She could be strong.

Oh, she had tried to be strong. Tried so damn hard to be strong.

She bit her lip hard.

They stopped at an upscale coffee shop, and Ned scoped out the room, then settled on a woman who had her hair tied up in a tight ponytail, her shirt buttoned almost all the way to her collarbone.

Nancy glanced from the woman back to Ned. "Good luck."

"Don't need it," Ned replied with his old cocky grin. He took his coffee and a napkin over, and after a five-minute conversation the woman was grinning, scrolling through something on her phone, and Ned was scribbling on the napkin. She reached for the pen and Nancy rolled her eyes.

Ned returned with the address and directions to the nearest print shop, and the woman's number.

"You never turn it off, do you," Nancy sighed, then took a sip of her drink.

Ned raised an eyebrow. "Hey, I thought that's who was in this group. You're the brains and I'm the beauty."

Nancy chuckled. "Considering we're still alive, I think you can claim the 'brains' too."

"And you're not doing so bad in the beauty department either," Ned murmured, then looked away.

Nancy had gone to a drugstore and invested in some serious cover-up. Her color wasn't quite right, but at least she didn't look so much like Frankenstein's monster anymore. Her face warmed a little, and she looked away too.

They had to wait until the print shop closed for the night to break in, and they abandoned the rental in the parking lot at a department store, went inside and bought a wig for her and a ballcap for him, then went to the food court.

This time she didn't give them newlywed IDs. She couldn't bear it.

The next cab ride was to the airport. Their cash was dwindling, and that drove her nuts; she knew that with a single call to her father, they would have everything they needed. But they couldn't do that.

"Think it's time to call Dad?" she asked, as the cab driver negotiated the heavy traffic into the airport.

"Is it possible he'll give us away if he has too much warning?"

She frowned. "I don't think so. He's smarter than that. But if you think it's a possibility..."

At the airport, Nancy used the credit card linked to one of her probably compromised cover names to buy two plane tickets to Chicago. Then she and Ned stuck around for half an hour, watching the crowd, waiting to see someone they recognized.

When four guys walked in and started canvassing the ticket counters, Nancy and Ned went into the bathrooms, put on their disguises, then walked out.

She did have to smile at him when she slid into the seat of the rental Mustang.

"You got this?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I got this."

* * *

The next day, they would be back in Chicago.

They had slept in separate beds the night before, three feet of space between them, and he couldn't remember the last time he had heard her voice in his head.

(It had been two days ago at lunch since he had clearly felt her project to him, and breakfast this morning when he had known what she was feeling.)

Part of him had wondered if her ability was just a strange symptom, if it was fading as she healed. Maybe it was, but he knew somehow that it wasn't that way yet. She was pulling away from him. When she spoke she sounded normal, and when they were—

When _he_ was back in Chicago, he wondered if he would forget being able to hear her, the strange delight her touch gave him. He wondered if it would all fade, all of it, into just the nightmare of running. If even that would fade like the cases he had accompanied her on did.

He had always wanted to forget her cases. He had hated seeing her in danger, and for him the best part of her cases had always been the end, when she was between, when for the barest instant he could actually hold her attention.

He was relieved to almost be home, but while she had been driving, when he had let the scenery blur in front of him, he had found his thoughts straying back to the small cabin they had shared when she had come to herself again. If she hadn't said they should leave, they might still be there together. Sharing that small bed.

At first he had shied away from her touch, but not having it...

When she had touched him, when they had spoken that way on a regular basis, it hadn't hurt so much when they parted, like he was building up some kind of resistance to the withdrawal he had felt. Extended contact had still made him ache after, but _during_...

After tomorrow he wouldn't really see her again. Oh, they would both be living near Chicago, for a long while yet, and he might see her out at the bar, might glimpse the flash of her hair across a department store, but they would be over.

(_Especially if things didn't go the way they had planned—_)

He cut that thought off and opened his eyes. She was in the other bed, and the curtains didn't close all the way. Her face was indistinct in the muted grey glow, but he could see the bruises. She had washed off the makeup before she had gone to sleep.

He tried to close his eyes, tried to forget it.

He could lose her in the space of a second, tomorrow. He would lose her tomorrow anyway. He tried to imagine saying the words to her again, but it seemed so cold. He'd give her a while to get back into her life, and if she contacted him, he would do it then. If she never did...

No. No. He had to end it. Sooner rather than later, gently...

_There's nothing to end._

Ned rubbed his palm over his face. _This is nothing?_

And he wanted to lose this, willingly. Wanted to open his fist and let it go.

If they were back in that cabin, if they had spent four nights together, he knew, he _knew_ that it would have happened again. One night he would have pulled her to him, skin against skin, no barriers between them, and he didn't know what it would have done to him

(_what it will do to me_)

(no, _no_)

but _God_, just the thought of her touch was making him shake a little.

He would not feel her touch again. Even if she healed and that strange connection between them became tentative, almost ephemeral again, once he told her...

How could he do it again. How could he see that look on her face and do this again, break her heart all over again.

_Because she's dying. Every second she's closer._

They were no good for each other. She needed someone who _wanted_ the danger, the excitement, the thrill of it all. He only enjoyed it to any degree because it was her, spending time with her. Protecting her.

_Frank._

Frank would find his way to her, and Nancy wouldn't obliterate him like the moth drawn to her flame, the way Ned had always felt. Ned drowned in her. She became everything to him, but she was always able to walk away, to find someone else, to confess her transgressions over and over.

He wanted her to be happy. He did. He wanted her to find someone who was good for her.

Nancy opened her eyes and Ned glanced over at her. Her eyes were shining.

"Go to sleep," she whispered. "We have a lot to do tomorrow."

He nodded.

_Tomorrow._

He went to the bathroom and when he came back, her eyes were still open.

"Go to sleep," he whispered, with the ghost of a smile.

She couldn't smile back, and when he felt it, he didn't know if it was her or him, but he couldn't stop himself from obeying the impulse. He crawled onto her bed, slipping under the covers with her.

He was going to rip his own heart out tomorrow.

Ned closed his eyes and made himself stop thinking about it, as he breathed her in.

* * *

The plan was good. Nancy had gone over it for loopholes, for problems, and it had a very good chance of succeeding. If they were discovered, it would be because they had slipped up before, and if that happened, well, there was nothing she could do. They were already dead.

She had cried in the shower that morning, cried and cried until she had been almost heaving with it, hoping that the water drowned her out. Hoping that she was able to keep him from sensing it.

But maybe knowing it would only steel his resolve, would only make this easier.

She had texted one of the city reporters, Brad Carling, who had promised her a favor in return for a scoop on a case a few months ago. _Big lead on bribery allegations. Come alone._ Brad was a good thirty years older than she was, and he believed himself invincible. He would come alone, and he would be off the radar as far as the mob was concerned.

He could schedule an interview with Carson Drew with no problem. And then she wouldn't be safe, but she would be closer than she had been in a while.

And if Ned opened his mouth before she did, she was going to lose it.

She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes until Brad was supposed to arrive, until all this was over.

Then she took a deep breath and turned, and almost melted.

Ned was gorgeous. She had memorized his handsome features, his dark wavy hair, a long time ago. His gaze landed on her and a tingle went down her spine in response. God, she loved him. She loved him so much.

And that was why she had to let him go.

* * *

"I forgive you," Nancy said.

Ned stared at her across the car. The reporter would be here soon; Ned had been planning to hug her goodbye, to give her a little time, to let them drift apart by degrees. Just like when she had started helping her father on the case and he had believed, somehow, over and over, that they weren't over.

She smiled, but there was no humor or warmth in her expression at all.

"I absolve you," she said. "That's what you needed to hear, isn't it."

Ned could feel himself flushing, but he couldn't speak.

"What you did for me—thank you. Thank you for everything. I know how much you hated it."

Ned shook his hand. "Nan—"

She shook her head, holding up a hand to cut him off. "I _know_ how much you did, Ned, so don't lie. I know how much you wished that you had never been there. That you wanted to be back home with that—with your girlfriend, instead of with me."

"It wasn't like—"

The color in her face, the look in her eyes, was almost feverishly bright. "We both know it didn't work," she said. "That it was never going to work. You were right before. We're better off apart. We're better for ourselves apart.

"So, thank you. Thank you for doing all this, and... I know that you and I will see each other, around. Let's not do this bullshit about six months, okay? Because nothing will have changed and—and we can say we'll be friends but—Ned, don't. Don't call me. Don't talk to me. Leave me alone. Let me go. And all the debts between us will be paid. You'll find someone who makes you happy, who doesn't throw herself into danger every other day, and I'll find someone who actually wants to be with me." Her voice caught. "Someone who thinks I'm more important than fucking some slut who couldn't care less about a relationship."

"Nancy," Ned growled. _Oh God, oh God._

She opened the car door, then went to get her bags out of the trunk. Ned waited a second before he followed, and she was wiping at her face with her sleeve. Her eyes were red.

"Nancy," he said, like a sigh.

She put her duffel bags down. "I mean it," she said quietly. "Don't call me. If—You wanted this to be over. I guess for the longest time I just didn't believe it, but all this has done is show me that... that I was lying to myself."

"You weren't."

Nancy shook her head. "I was," she muttered. "I can't, anymore."

They both glanced up when a car approached, the headlights bouncing as the car went over the bumps. It reached the edge of the lot and the headlights flashed twice to signal them.

Nancy glanced back at him, and he couldn't help it. He was moving toward her. If this was how she felt, all he'd have to do was touch her—

She shrank back, away from him. "Goodbye," she whispered. "I—I want you to be happy, okay?"

She shoved one bag up onto her shoulder and lifted the other, heading toward the reporter's car. Not looking back at him.

_I've been losing you since the day we met._

_It's better this way._

Ned blinked hard, then swiped angrily at his face.

"I want you to be happy too, Nan," he whispered, as the other car began to pull away.

_I just wish it could have been with me._


	15. Chapter 15

A month after his return from Canada, Ned was doing okay. Returning to work had been rough. His boss was very unhappy that he had vanished with no warning, and most of his work had been given to other representatives in his absence. Ned was caught taking up the slack, staying late, and honestly that suited him. On nights he was left to his own devices, he tended to drink too much, feel tempted to call people he shouldn't, say things he would regret in the morning.

He imagined it was like any other addiction. It would get easier. One morning he wouldn't wake craving it—_her_—anymore.

Fuck. It had been so much easier when it had been his decision to leave.

And, he had told himself over and over, it hadn't been a breakup, and she had just managed to get the words out before he did.

He hadn't known it would hurt that much. But she had done him a favor.

_Need the summary before the conference call at four._ Ned read the email again. Then he picked up his phone.

"I need the stats by two at the latest."

"They're not _here,_" Marcus replied. "I don't know that they'll be here by two. Let me make some calls."

"This was supposed to be here _yesterday_," Ned said tightly. "Palmer's going to have my ass if I don't get this done."

Marcus mumbled some excuse and Ned slammed the phone down, reaching for the antacids in his desk drawer. He had only managed to get his position back by invoking Carson Drew's name, and part of him thought it was probably a bluff, that Carson might not have vouched for him at all if his boss had called.

The trial that had almost ended Nancy's life was everywhere. Newscasters gave a recap every day with the evening news. Teasers for the five o'clock news promised new revelations. Rarely did some unrelated topic knock the trial off the headline of his homepage's news feed.

His curiosity had gotten the better of him a few times, but he hadn't really caught up on it in a week. Seeing the last name Drew in a headline made his stomach clench a little, and he just hadn't worked up the nerve lately. Not with his boss riding him the way he had been.

_You hear about the powerpoint? We need to fix the graphs, Jack says they aren't "colorful enough." what the fuck._

Ned shook his head when Ken's email came through. Ken had an angel on his shoulder; that was for damn sure. One false "reply-all" click and Ken would be in hot water.

His stomach growled, and Ned grimaced. He had only managed to grab a cup of coffee on the way out in the morning, and he was afraid to leave his desk before Marcus sent the fucking stats over. Palmer was just spoiling for a legitimate reason to throw Ned under the bus.

Tapping his foot, Ned pulled up a search engine, then remembered himself. He wouldn't want an IT guy monitoring his usage to call Palmer and just mention that Ned had been looking up available jobs in the classified ads.

Coffee. He needed some more coffee.

Ned hit the vending machine near the breakroom, pouring himself another cup of coffee. He was living on fucking antacids.

Three of the secretaries were in the breakroom, splitting a bag of microwave popcorn, sipping diet sodas. One of the midmorning talk shows was shrilling quietly to itself from the television in the corner. The youngest secretary of the bunch glanced up at him from beneath her lashes, and Ned smiled a little, although he was already mentally back in his office.

Ned had seen Cindy all of five times since his return. He blamed his work schedule for it, but his heart just wasn't in it, not with her, not anymore. The secretary making eyes at him... well, he realized, he didn't expect to be here that much longer.

For the past month, he had felt untethered from everything around him. Especially the day he had taken every photo, every keepsake that reminded him of her, boxed them up and took them to his parents' house, to leave her with the rest of his past. He couldn't excise her—he would never try; too much of who he was was bound up with her and their relationship—but doing that had felt like a step in the right direction.

Ned only noticed he was staring at the television set when the _Special Report_ graphic flashed across the screen.

"Good morning, this is Derek Brayburn with your Channel 8 news team. We're interrupting your regularly scheduled program for a special report. Annette Vinson is live at the courthouse downtown. Annette?"

"Yes, Derek. Just two minutes ago, here at the courthouse—"

Ned crossed to the television set and punched the volume button, turning it up. The female anchor's eyes were wide, her mouth straight. Serious.

"—just a short distance away from where her father is currently building a case against the city's organized crime family, Carson Drew's daughter Nancy Drew was gunned down on the front steps—"

Behind Ned, something metallic clattered to the floor. Ned had to grasp a chairback to keep himself upright.

He had known. He had fucking _known_. But it still felt like he had just spoken to her, just touched her.

"She had just gone on the stand as the prosecution's witness, testifying about her experience at the hands of Paul Masucci nearly two months ago."

The report cut to some stock footage of Nancy leaving the courthouse a few days earlier. The cast was still on her arm.

He had always thought he would know if she were dead, that he would be able to feel it. Even if he hadn't seen her in ten years, he still thought he would _know_.

Numbly he pulled the chair out and collapsed into it. "Are you okay?" asked a small, tentative voice behind him; he ignored it.

Back to Derek in the studio. "Any report on her condition?" the unnaturally solemn man asked.

_Her condition?_

"Eyewitnesses are reporting, and amateur footage is still coming in—it appears that she was struck in the upper body. Chicago Mercy hasn't yet released a statement."

"And her father?"

Ned closed his eyes. She wasn't dead. He _would_ know.

Before he could stop himself or think it through, he was reaching out to her, but he had no hope that he could actually succeed at contacting her.

_Nancy._

He didn't know what else to say. There was nothing else to say.

He couldn't feel her. He only knew that she had to still be alive.

The two newscasters were bantering back and forth about shit they didn't know and Ned felt the cold shakes start, a little. The impulse to call her was just as useless as it was strong.

_I mean it. Don't call me._

Ned blew out a long breath, then glanced back. The secretaries were gazing at him in sympathy. Three of his coworkers were hanging in the doorway, too.

He shook his head.

No matter where he was, no matter where _she_ was, this would always linger between them. He couldn't feel guilty about being a little freaked out, for his little momentary slip.

She was okay. She would be okay.

_And one day she won't be._

Ned got up and went back to his desk, but for the rest of the day, he moved like a man lost in a dream.

* * *

As soon as he was back in his apartment after work, Ned turned the local 24-hour news channel on. He kept his ear attuned to it as he heated up a frozen pizza, as he pulled up a browser and caught up on the day's games, as he checked his personal email.

He wanted to call Cindy.

He remembered what had happened the last time he had been in this mood and he had called Cindy.

Ned was trembling motionless, quivering with the need to do _something_. God, for so long he had just wanted to be out of it entirely, wanted the choices to be out of his hands. He hadn't wanted her to be his responsibility. But he had said it was okay for her to come back, and now, _this_, and he had fucking _known._

But living as they were wouldn't have been living for her at all. She wasn't built that way.

Part of him hated her for being the first of them to say what he had intended on saying. He hated her for putting him in that position; he hated her for going on without him, hated her for walking away from this so easily.

But at least she had found the strength to do it. He had all the experience when it came to breaking up with her. It was strange, to be on the other side of that line, after sleeping beside her, after being able to see inside her so easily.

He knew that she loved him. He knew that he loved her. That had never been the issue. It was knowing that—

Knowing that...

Ned shook his head. He needed a drink. He needed a fucking drink. But he was afraid if he did, he would walk into the hospital, and he would take that faint invisible string between them in his fingers and follow it to where she was. He would stand there beside her bed and wait for her to wake up and he would say _It was too soon, why didn't you want to stay with me, why couldn't we just wait a while longer._

_Because it would have been forever._

_And that thought was so terrible?_

That little vacation from life—he wouldn't do it over again, and he had hated the perpetual state of anxiety—was just that. It was no way to live.

But what was this, he wondered.

The news channel was displaying another loop of stock footage. Nancy was climbing the steps of the courthouse, wearing a smart business suit, her arm still in her cast. She was surrounded by four large bodyguards, complete with earpieces. Nothing but the best for Carson Drew's baby daughter, now that she was back in Chicago. Ned wondered idly which of them had fallen down on the job and allowed her to be shot—or, maybe, which one of them had taken a bribe and looked the other way.

Maybe being cooped up in a small ramshackle cabin with her ex-boyfriend was no real way to live, but Ned couldn't imagine that having to look over her shoulder for the rest of her life was either. Ned was sure that Carson had no intention of throwing the trial, not anymore.

_She plays with fire. It's what she does._

What kind of life could he build with someone like her?

Ned shook his head again.

_It would have been forever._

He went to bed with the news playing, leaving blue flicker on his walls as he dreamed. He dreamed of her walking away from him. He dreamed of the warmth of her in his arms. He did not dream of that silent connection between them.

That felt like something that had happened to someone else. To the guy who had naively believed this was all a phase. Once upon a time he had believed that she would grow out of it, settle down, accept a nine-to-five job with a smile.

He watched the news until he left in the morning, though, telling himself that he was wrong. The sheer fact he was watching wasn't going to keep her safe, and the sooner he was able to move on, the better.

It was lunchtime when Ned drifted into the breakroom again, partially in an attempt to ignore the email notification he had heard just before he had left his office. Palmer was in rare form today. He had already sent three emails that had left Ned digging his nails hard into his palm, holding himself back from retorting with blisteringly sarcastic, profanity-laden responses. Ned's last response had taken four drafts to sound anywhere near deferential.

Ned didn't even bother hiding his interest when the midday news report began.

"I'm Sherry Minear. Today the city government inched closer to an agreement about the budget shortfall, and we'll cover that later this hour. First, though, a live press conference on the steps of the courthouse downtown."

Derek Brayburn was in the field today, Ned noticed. "Yes, Sherry," Derek said, pressing a fingertip to his ear. His brow was furrowed in a simulacrum of concern. "The conference should begin any moment now. Carson Drew, who delivered a stunning blow to the defense this morning with surprise testimony from a former family associate turned informant, has called the conference to announce an update on his daughter's condition. You will remember that Nancy Drew was shot on the front steps of the courthouse yesterday. Charges have yet to be filed in the shooting. We have obtained some amateur footage—I do warn viewers that the content is graphic and may be disturbing for some."

Ned tried to look away, but he couldn't. The footage was grainy, but he saw the puff of red, the way she stiffened and collapsed.

Even if he had been there, it wasn't like he would have been able to do anything. It wasn't like she wanted him anywhere near her.

_None of that bullshit about us being friends._

He had never been _just_ her friend. Sitting to the side and watching her date someone else, watching her share with another guy what had once been his alone—

"Okay, I'm getting word that the statement is about to begin," Derek said hurriedly.

Carson Drew was standing at a podium on the steps, flanked by officers—and that made Ned feel sick. While he had never quite been able to prove it conclusively, he was still convinced that at least a member or two of the Chicago PD had snitched and put her in mortal danger.

Then Ned's gaze shifted to the other man standing there, and for a second the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

Hardy.

"A very cowardly, very _serious _offense took place here on these steps yesterday," Carson said, his voice firm, his jaw tight with barely restrained anger. "My daughter was seriously wounded by an as yet unidentified shooter. I appeal now to those of you who _know_ the people responsible, to step forward. Leave an anonymous tip with the force."

Ned snickered to herself. Sure. He wouldn't trust a single one of those officers as far as he could throw them.

"To those who _are_ responsible, you should know that this, in no way, is going to deter me from the case. The more you try, the more ammunition you provide for me. And you may well believe that my wrath will be terrible against those who turn a legal matter into a personal vendetta."

Well, he had to admit that she came by it naturally. Nancy and her father were both tenacious as bulldogs, once they sank their teeth into something.

Hardy. Frank Hardy with his hands joined behind him, looking stern and forbidding. Ned wondered if Frank had been beside her bed all night, holding her hand, praying for her to be okay, praying for her to be safe.

And then he wondered if that strange bond he and Nancy had shared wasn't theirs alone. If Frank, his fingers joined to hers, had suddenly been aware of her voice in his head.

Ned pushed his chair back and went back to his office, his mouth set in a grim line.

Even another twenty emails from Palmer were preferable to that thought.

Why was it that no matter how hard he tried, his worst-case scenarios were never doing anything to soften the blows of what he had always known would come.

* * *

By the following weekend, the reporters had turned to paparazzi waiting outside the hospital, waiting for a glimpse of her. Finally one caught some grainy footage and that ran, looped, through the Saturday evening news. Ned caught it early Sunday morning when he was trying to sober up a little before bed. He had almost forgotten that his car payment was due, and chuckled as he navigated to the right website. He'd be lucky if he didn't accidentally add an extra zero to the payment and really fuck himself up.

The footage was disappointingly indistinct. Ned wondered for a second if they had pulled the same bait-and-switch they had planned when she had left the hospital before, wrapped Bess's arm in some bandages and sent her out the back door while Nancy escaped some other way.

Ned picked up the remote to turn the channel.

Frank had her. Frank would keep her safe. They would dangle by their fingers off the edges of cliffs together and Frank wouldn't play worrywart, and Ned had wanted her to be happy.

Seeing Frank had always made Ned's blood boil, made Ned wonder what attracted Nancy to the other man. It seemed ridiculous that Ned had let a week go by without following the trial; now, whenever Nancy's name was mentioned, he couldn't help watching, his heart leaping in a burst of cruel jealousy when he spotted Frank in the footage.

Maybe Frank would take her away, back to Bayport with him. Ned was both glad and saddened by the thought. At least when she was here—

_At least when she's here what,_ he thought to himself, tauntingly. It wasn't like he was going to contact her. She had forbidden it. And now that she had Frank, she didn't need him.

When he found himself wondering, with growing anger, whether Frank had planted the seeds for this particular relationship while Ned was still with her, Ned made sure his payment had gone through and headed for bed. He needed that little voice in the back of his head to fucking shut up.

Ned was idly brushing up on his resume, half-following the Sunday afternoon game, when his phone chirped.

_About to head to R&W for a beer, you free?_

Ned picked up his phone. _Sure. Be there in twenty._

Brady Moretti was sitting at the bar, near the back. He held his beer aloft to signal Ned, and Ned shouldered through the crowd. The sports bar was loud, full of the crush of coeds shouting at the game, and some stragglers from the late-day theater crowd. Ned slipped onto the barstool beside Brady's and signaled for a draft beer.

"Been doing okay?"

Ned shrugged. "Not too bad. Can't complain," he said. As soon as he returned to his apartment, he was planning on submitting his resume for at least five open positions. Cindy hadn't returned the ill-advised text he had sent the night before, and he was mostly glad. And he was burning up with jealousy at the thought of his ex-girlfriend with a prick. He was great.

It was hurting less, less every day. One day he would feel only the barest pang at the thought.

"And you?" Ned asked, after his beer arrived.

Brady shrugged. "I've been keeping busy," he said, glancing over his shoulder. He appeared to have zero interest in the game. Ned almost asked if Brady actually _hadn't_ bet on the game, but dismissed that thought as hilarious.

"Look," Brady said, so low Ned had to bend in toward him to understand him, "I heard something last night. I'm not about to call this in to some fucking tip line, and I thought maybe you'd be able to... pass this along."

Ned raised an eyebrow, taking a long sip of his beer.

"The price on her head has doubled, Ned."

Ned put his beer down, staring at Brady.

"It won't just be wiseguys coming after her. It'll be anyone who has a beef to settle. Anyone hard-up who doesn't mind capping her. Fuck, if I wasn't..." Brady shrugged a little, took a sip of his beer.

Ned looked down, his face gone pale.

"So you might want to say goodbye to her while you still can."


	16. Chapter 16

The Drew home looked strange to Ned, now. He hadn't been a regular guest in a long time, and the last time he had seen it, they had all been consumed by the chaos that followed her disappearance.

A security officer was stationed on the front porch. Ned found himself hoping the tall, stockily-built man wasn't the only one standing guard. "Name and identification, sir," the officer said, his gaze steady.

Ned pulled out his wallet, and the officer consulted a list. Then he nodded at the front door.

Ned wondered exactly what had gotten him through that first round.

Hannah answered Ned's knock. He hadn't been sure if she would be hostile or welcoming. When she saw him, she seemed to contract, a little, though her brown eyes were sympathetic. "Ned," she said, her voice subdued. "She's... she's not here."

Ned didn't realize how much he had been hoping that she was until Hannah said that. "It's okay," he said, shrugging. "I need to speak to Mr. Drew."

Hannah stepped aside. "If you could just wait here for a moment."

He could _hear_ her, not just in his head. She was laughing at something. He heard her father's voice, Frank's, the clink of silverware and plates. They were all having dinner together.

Ned's stomach did a slow flip. He had to give them the warning, though. And then he could go to a bar and get fucked up and take someone new home and maybe by the end of the night he wouldn't be wishing he had caught just a single glimpse of her. Just to reassure himself that she truly was all right.

Hannah came back. "The study," she said.

Going to Carson Drew's study had always felt like going to the principal's office, somehow. Ned sat down in the chair facing the desk and found himself checking to make sure there was no sight line through the windows, gazing suspiciously at the phone. Presumably Nancy had made sure her father was aware of the suspected bugs.

Ned stood when Carson entered. Before the older man could even speak, Ned said, "Are we secure?"

Carson followed Ned's gaze to the phone. "We should be," he said.

"The price on her head has doubled," Ned said without further preamble.

Carson's eyes widened. "How do you know?"

"I have a friend," Ned explained. "A friend I contacted... before. The one who told me where she was being held. He volunteered the information. I'd guess it would be easy enough to verify. But he was very sure, and he basically said that this is going to bring all kinds of lowlifes out of the woodwork, to get her."

Carson ran his hand through his graying hair. "She needs to know," he muttered.

"Are you—" Ned caught himself before he snapped. "Yeah. She does."

Carson walked out and motioned for Ned to follow. They came around the corner, into the dining room.

Nancy and Frank were sitting there, cleared place settings before them, laughing about something. Her blue eyes were sparkling, and Frank had a wide grin on his face.

And Ned couldn't look away from her.

She looked almost whole. Her skin was healthy, almost translucently clear, no longer mottled with those terrible bruises. Her arm was still immobile, but she looked like herself again.

Her face paled when she glanced up and saw Ned, and her smile faded. She had told him not to call her, not to contact her, not at all, and he wondered if her stomach was doing the same slow flips that his was.

He fought the impulse to reach out to her, to exploit whatever remained of the connection between them, until he mastered it, forcing it back down.

He still didn't trust himself to look at Hardy, though.

"Tell them what you told me," Carson said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Ned cleared his throat. "A... a friend of mine, who gave me a tip when you were taken, who knew where you were... he contacted me out of the blue a few hours ago, and he told me that the price on your head has doubled."

"Dead or alive?" Carson asked, his voice curiously distant, as Nancy glanced over at Frank, but her gaze immediately sought Ned's out again.

"Yeah," Ned confirmed. "Either."

"Did he know the reason?" Frank asked. He had reached for Nancy's good hand.

Ned's jaw tightened for a second, seeing Frank touch her. "It just seems like retribution," he said. "Not as simple as a payoff or anything."

Nancy and Frank exchanged a glance again. Ned shoved his hands into his pockets. He hadn't exactly dressed to impress anyone; he was still in the beat-up jeans and ragged henley he had been wearing to watch the game. Nancy looked nice, though. She was wearing makeup. Her blouse was floral and soft.

Ned swallowed and made himself look down. "Look, I just thought you needed to know," he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "You've vetted all these security officers pretty thoroughly, right?"

Carson nodded. "Of course."

"And you got rid of the one who let her get shot?"

Carson bristled a little. "Look—"

But Ned didn't care. Carson wasn't his girlfriend's father anymore; he didn't have to keep the man happy with him. Nancy had pushed her chair back from the table, though, and was standing, and Frank followed soon after.

"I think someone on the force betrayed her—and whoever comes after her now, if they get you both? Two birds with one stone. Mistrial or delay while someone scrambles to get everything back in place. More time to get leverage."

"So, what then?" It had been so long since Ned had heard her voice, and at the sound of it he couldn't look away from her. Her blue eyes were flashing. "Another trip out of the country? Because that—"

"It was safer than _here_," Ned said vehemently, anticipating her argument.

"Of course you think that."

"Look, I don't care what you do," Ned said, waving his hand. "It's your life. It's always been your damn life."

The two of them stared at each other, color high, and for a moment it was as though they were alone. Everything else fell away.

"And that's why you _came_ here. Instead of calling."

"Because you would have taken my call," he shot back.

Frank cleared his throat. "Look, Ned, thanks for letting us know, okay? We—"

"You can take it from here. Yeah. I know." Ned ran his hand through his hair. He had to get away from her, out of her sight, before he did something even more ill-advised. "Sorry for interrupting your dinner. I'll... see you around."

He didn't look back at her when he left the dining room, and she didn't call him back.

Hannah squeezed his hand when she walked him to the door. "Thank you," she murmured. "Thank you. I know you didn't have to do that."

Ned gave her the barest hint of a smile. "I did," he murmured.

"Well... here."

When he reached his car, Ned opened the small paper bag she had handed him, and saw a cellophane-wrapped cake slice at the bottom.

Well. Maybe he didn't really need to hit the bar tonight.

* * *

The cabin was the same as he remembered it. It was filled with dim grey light. Snow all around. Their footsteps would be visible when they had to run.

When Ned walked in, the body of the blond-haired man was gone, but a large bloodstain remained on the hardwood. Part of it was under the stove.

And Nancy was still sitting there, against the wall. She wore the blue dress and no cast, and the gun was propped up beside her.

She looked up at him when he entered the cabin.

"You have to get ready," he told her. "We have to get out of here."

She shook her head. "I'm not leaving."

"They're going to find us."

She shrugged. He saw the tracks of fresh tears down her cheeks, and noticed her lashes were wet. "From here I have sightlines to everywhere. I can defend myself."

He looked up. "You don't, you can't," he pointed out softly. "The front window, the bedroom? You're blind from there."

Nancy shook her head again. "It's okay."

"When you run out of ammunition?"

"I won't."

"Nancy," he sighed. "Please."

"You walked away," she said.

"You told me to."

She chuckled, bitterly. "It's me," she said. "They're after me. Just leave me."

Ned shook his head. "We have to get out of here."

She slammed her hand on the floor beside her, a hard, harsh sound. "I'll _never be out of here_," she cried out. "_Never_. You can't fix this, Ned. You can't solve it. You just need to be out of here when it all goes to hell."

"Then I won't leave."

She climbed to her feet. "You have to go now."

"Nancy—"

She opened her mouth—

And his alarm went off.

Ned opened his eyes.

* * *

The thing was, at the time, he actually _laughed_ when Frank suggested it, over the phone.

"You have got to be kidding."

"No. No." Ned could picture Frank shaking his head. "It's perfect. We have it all figured out. It's just, I've been spotted with her, and... it makes sense for you to do it."

"That is the stupidest fucking thing I've heard in my life."

"Oh. So you can come up with something better. Let's hear it."

Ned grumbled. "Look, if you gave me some time, I might, but for fuck's sake, Hardy. Do you _want_ her dead?"

"You know I don't." Frank's voice was low and intense. "And I'm banking on the fact that you don't either, Nickerson."

Ned shook his head, rubbing his temple.

No. Frank was out of his damn mind.

It was relatively simple, on Frank's end. He had his own resources and his own methods, but he had to get his Trojan horse inside.

And Ned was supposed to help.

Ned's role in all this was to take Nancy in, offering to exchange her for the bounty. Once they were inside, Frank would be monitoring communications and find out who on the force had turned, and by questioning those men, offering reduced sentences, they would be able to find out about the higher-ups in the organization. Nancy and Ned would be monitored, and at their signal, hand-picked officers would swarm in and take down everyone they could find.

It was supposed to be short, sweet, low-risk.

Ned had heard those words before, from other lips, and knew just how false they were.

Frank couldn't take her in. They would know that was a trap. But Ned—she had broken up with him some time ago, and it would be natural, that some animosity would exist between Ned and Nancy. They wouldn't have to playact that anyway, at least.

"And she's willing to go along with this."

"I wouldn't have called you otherwise."

"Then let me talk to her. Maybe one of you will listen to reason. What about Carson?"

"If this will get them off her back, he's behind it."

Ned sighed impatiently. "I can't believe you two."

"I want her free of this." Frank's voice dropped. "She doesn't sleep well."

Ned's stomach clenched hard. Oh. So he knew how she slept, did he.

"She's still... it's still bad for her, and I think this will go a long way toward putting it right. We just have to make it hard for them to justify continuing to go after her. This will help with that."

And Ned had the thought, the same one he'd had since Brady had first given him the information. He hadn't told anyone about the body. He didn't know if Nancy had. But at least one person out there knew who was responsible for the blond man's death, and if the reward wasn't motivated by any of the usual reasons, Ned could very much imagine that it was motivated by vengeance. An eye for an eye. Her life for his. That the second they walked in, they would just lay her flat.

"Let me talk to her."

"She doesn't want to talk to you." Frank's reply was immediate.

"Just ask her," Ned said, his voice tight, and Frank put the phone down.

After a hushed exchange, someone picked the phone up. "Ned," Nancy sighed.

"This is the stupidest idea I've ever heard," Ned said quickly, harshly. "Nancy, please. _Please._ There has to be another way."

"What other way?" she asked calmly. "I mean it. Can you see any other way out of this?"

"Has your dad even reached out to them and asked if there's some amount—"

"They took a million dollars of his money and beat me half to death anyway," Nancy pointed out. "Somehow I think that doesn't guarantee anyone's safety, at all."

Ned sighed. "Do you dream about it?" he asked softly. "The cabin? I have, and..."

He heard a soft sound he couldn't identify. "Please," Nancy said, her voice almost so low as to be inaudible. "Please do this for us, Ned. I know... I wasn't going to involve you any more, but you're one of the only people I would trust to do this."

"You shouldn't," Ned said bitterly. "But you know that. It will kill me if anything goes wrong—and I don't see how _anything_ is going to go right."

She sighed. "Fine. If you don't want to do it..."

Ned gritted his teeth for a moment. "I don't," he told her. "By God, I don't. Walking into the lion's den is one of the worst fucking things you could do, and you have a fucking _gunshot wound_, and..." He sighed. "If you're going to do this regardless—"

"I am."

"Then I guess I want to be there. Because if I'm not, I'll always wonder what I could have done."

Nancy clucked her tongue. "You don't give yourself enough credit."

"Oh, don't I," Ned muttered. "Hardy wants you to wear a wire, right?"

"Yeah. We can use it in court to help put them away."

That damned _we_ again. Ned swallowed down his bitterness. "Then I'll wear it."

"You don't—"

"He can rig it up in a phone," Ned said, tilting his voice up with a slight question at the end. "I told you, _you_ have to walk away from this. If there's any way possible."

"Stop worrying," she said. Her voice was so easy, so light. No tinge of doubt or fear at all. That's what he had been for in their relationship, and Frank and Carson weren't going to hold her back, by any means. "It's going to be fine. Great."

"I'll wear the wire," Ned said again.

"Fine," she muttered. "We need to coordinate when you're going to do this."

It was only then that he felt the first sudden tremble of awareness. They were talking to each other again.

_Another goodbye. My life will be one long goodbye to her._

_Though maybe it's already over._

* * *

Ned sucked in a long breath. He was sweating, shaking a little, and every single atom in his entire body was screaming that he needed to stop this. He could drive out to a field and let her out of the car and tell her that he couldn't have her blood on his hands. No matter what she had said when they had broken up, he was walking willfully into this. This was his choice. This wasn't some missed call, or a question of time. This was _him_. All him.

But if he didn't do it, if he didn't take this step, Frank would. Someone else would. Someone she trusted less. She would be defenseless and lain on the altar by someone else.

He took another deep breath, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.

This had to have been Frank's idea. To him, her life must be worth less than nothing. Ned thought again of her, sprawled on the cabin floor, in that blue dress. The tears on her cheeks. She would never have done this herself, never put herself back into their grasp.

(But she had come back to Chicago. Walked right back in, chin up, daring it to touch her again.)

He had touched her, briefly, while he had tied the knots around her wrists, imposing knots that looked tight but could be untied easily. At the brush of his fingertips he had felt it waken again, opening in him. The bruises had healed but the connection between them wasn't gone, and he had wondered if his dreams had been _hers, theirs_, again.

He wondered if the adrenaline sending his heart rate skyrocketing was partially hers.

He started the car, trying to remember the little tricks he had used to calm himself down before a game, keep his hands from shaking, keep his mind clear and steady.

_Are you afraid?_

He was. He was so, so afraid, but he gathered it up and pushed it down, so far down. He would let himself feel it later. For now, he would do everything he could to keep her safe.

She didn't answer, didn't answer, and he wondered if the roaring of her anticipation had kept her from hearing him. If his reminder of their connection was disturbing her, if her silence was another warning to him.

When her answer came, it was quiet, but it cut through everything else.

_Yeah._

By the time they set off, the officers were in place in the club, in plainclothes, waiting. Crazy Eight was packed; the line of waiting couples, pairs and trios of girls, spilled out onto the pavement. Ned bypassed it, heading for the alleyway a street up. He drove up, and a man in a black leather jacket detached himself from the shadow of a door and approached as Ned turned off the car and stepped out.

Ned didn't recognize the man, and the man didn't show any sign of recognizing him. "You got business here?"

Ned nodded, once. He could feel his pulse hard in his throat; his head throbbed with it. He held his hands out, swinging his key on his finger, and walked over to the trunk. "Delivery."

"I'll—"

The man moved toward the trunk. Ned shook his head. "Hand-deliver." He jerked his chin. "Open the door."

He opened the trunk. Nancy had her hands tied behind her, curled awkwardly in the small space. The man in the jacket chuckled, then headed for the doors.

Ned could see the flutter of her pulse in her throat. She was just as keyed-up as he was.

He picked her up, his fingertips grazing the line of her jaw. _It's okay. It's okay._

Michael Intoli looked up as Ned walked in, Nancy slung over his shoulder. "Ned Nickerson," Intoli chuckled. "Hand-delivery, huh?"

Five guns were trained on him. One was in the hand of a young guy with jet-black hair and snapping, fiery eyes; he had his gun cocked sideways, and the light reflected off the skin near his hairline. Of everyone in the room, this was the one person Ned marked as the biggest wildcard.

Ned put Nancy down on the floor, at his feet, making sure her head didn't rebound off the dirty cement floor. "Didn't want someone else claiming my reward," Ned explained, and wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

"You think we don't know who you are?" Intoli asked. "This is a fucking setup. We should lay you out right now." Intoli jerked his chin and the guy who had been standing guard outside frisked Ned. He checked Ned's pockets and put the cell and wallet he found on the low cluttered desk to Ned's right. All the better for the bug.

"It's not a setup," Ned replied, shocked his voice was so steady. "You want to know what this bitch did to me? I do everything for her, _everything_, make sure she's safe, and as soon as we get back here she dumps me. I'm not fucking good enough for her. So, you know what? It's only gonna be a matter of time before you guys get her and why the fuck shouldn't I collect instead of some lazy asshole?"

Intoli tilted his head. "You that mad at her? Mad enough that the thought of what we're gonna do to her puts a smile on your face? You are one cold motherfucker."

"Who else could put up with _her_ for so long?"

Intoli grinned. And Ned knew from the expression in his eyes that he had no intention of letting either of them leave the room alive.

"You do me a favor, why don't I do you a favor," Intoli said, and handed one of the dead-eyed men around him another gun. He jerked his chin in Ned's direction and the man, his gun still steadily trained on Ned, handed it to him.

"Two in the head," Intoli said. "And hell, one in the heart, right? Pay her back for what she did."

"And give you all the evidence you need to put me away?" Ned said, with a harsh, incredulous chuckle. "Other than the satisfaction of seeing her bleed to death on the floor, why the fuck would I take that kind of risk?"

Intoli's lips remained curled up, but the smile, faint as it was there, faded from his eyes. "We ain't in that business," he said. "You got a suspicious mind on you."

"Wouldn't be alive if I didn't." Ned held onto the gun, though. As much as he hated the idea of shooting any more people in his lifetime, it did make him feel better to have it. "So let's get to it, the money?"

Intoli glanced at a man, who then left the room.

_How much longer, how much longer. _Every second was sending his blood pressure up higher.

"How about I give you half again as much, if you do it."

"That'll be all the use in the world to me, in prison." Ned made his tone much harder than he felt. "Besides, I'm sure you got some men been itching to do this."

"Even more than you." Intoli checked the safety on his gun.

She had worked the ropes off. Ned knew it, suddenly, with total certainty.

Ned swung the gun up, training it on Intoli, and then there was no air in the room, no way to breathe. "You're stalling," Ned said. "What are you waiting for? There no money?"

The soldier came back in, a duffel over his shoulder, his hand inside. It emerged with a gun.

Ned gritted his teeth. They wouldn't need long. They would be inside, soon. Soon.

That was when the younger man, his eyes wide, fired.

Ned felt Nancy rise to her knees as he returned fire, and Ned put his arm around her, swinging her behind him. Behind them, the doors swung open as the officers breached, and the air was hot and thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder.

He took the barest amount of time he could, to aim. Intoli dove off the stool he had been sitting on, his gun aimed in their direction, and Ned dove to the side himself. Everything else was swallowed in the deafening sound of the guns. Ned felt something hit his upper thigh and cried out, but he couldn't hear it, couldn't feel anything after the initial burn faded.

Ten seconds had passed. Ten fucking seconds.

He had to get her out of there.

He looked down and oh, _that_, that wiped everything else out, until he was just a man staring down at the woman he loved.

Her face was covered in blood, her eyes closed.


	17. Chapter 17

"_You motherfucker._"

"Sir! Sir, sit down—"

The emergency medical technician was glaring at Ned, as they sped toward the hospital in the back of the ambulance. Ned moved a few inches, out of the way, plugging one ear with his knuckle as he pressed the phone so fucking hard to the other.

Nancy was blinking— No. No, they were testing her pupil dilation. Checking to see if she was concussed again.

"I'm sure she's going to be okay—" Frank began.

"_You don't fucking know that!"_ Ned was flushed scarlet, every hissed word sending a fine spray of spittle from his lips, and he was staring at her, waiting, waiting for anything. "This is on _you_, you asshole. _You._ And if she ever wakes up—"

She sucked in a breath and her good hand rose to her head as she uttered a low moan. Ned ignored the squawking from the phone as he hung up, his hand trembling as he reached for her.

"Nan?"

The EMT pushed Ned's hand aside, dabbing at Nancy's temple. The wound was still bleeding, although it had slowed a little. It was a graze. Ned was more concerned about what had happened to her when her head had hit the floor.

"Miss Drew? Miss Drew, I need you to open your eyes, if you can. Are you feeling nauseated?"

She was aware. Disoriented, but aware.

Ned couldn't take his eyes off her. He dialed Carson Drew's number absently, putting it to his ear, watching her turn her head to the side. The tone of the EMT's voice didn't change, and the words blurred into nothing, nothing. Meaningless.

"Hello?"

"We're on our way to the hospital."

"Frank told—"

Ned hung up.

Her blood. It was drying on his sleeve. Her blood.

* * *

It was all beginning to feel like some insane dream he was trapped inside. It wasn't the same room, but the waiting area was the same. The concerned, distracted expressions on Bess's and George's and Hannah's faces were the same. He could tell the former were surprised to see him, and he didn't blame them.

The adrenaline crash was starting. In that unreal state Ned found himself studying the orderlies and nurses, making sure none of them had short blond hair.

Oh, but Frank would be the one this time. Frank would scoop her into his arms and whisk her away. He would have her living in the lap of luxury as some pampered socialite while he used his vast resources to track the men after them. He wouldn't be marooned and lost, rendered impotent in the silence.

_He hadn't fucking been there when she was still and cold, there and not there at all._

Ned was the only one who remembered. For her it was some distant hazy nightmare, if she remembered it at all. God, when he had been mostly convinced that she was broken, a silent body, lost to him forever—but he was the only one who had experienced it. His personal hell. Another terrible apology, another interval of time he would spend hating his own heartbeat while he scrutinized her, looking for any sign she was coming back to him.

And Frank had come so close to risking that for her again.

Ned had refused treatment of his leg until Nancy was safe in a room. At the hospital the receptionist handed him the paperwork, a bored look on his face, and Ned was shown to a waiting area. Ned wished he didn't know the routine, or how to care for fucking bullet wounds. It shouldn't be in his repertoire, this insane knowledge.

She wasn't in the emergency area when he returned. None of them were.

He should go home. He wanted to go home and crawl into bed and sleep and sleep. He wanted to shoot something.

No, that wasn't true. Not something. Someone. One person in particular.

Ned didn't even pretend he was thinking straight as he stood in the middle of the emergency department and closed his eyes. Nurses were calling to each other. The intercom buzzed with codes. Crying, clapping and hooting on television programs, the scrape of metal on metal, creaks and snaps, the persistence of breath and hushed voices—

Ned reached into himself and found the slender thread between them, and began to follow it.

Frank and Carson were sitting in the waiting area, near the vending machines, near her room. He knew which door she was behind; even without the large, stern-looking security officer standing in front of it, Ned would have known.

Frank stood, casting a glance down at Ned's arm, his jeans. Ned hadn't changed his shirt and the blood had dried a deep, ominous brown. His right jeans leg was stiff with it too; his wound was bandaged now, though.

And Frank had the nerve to stand in front of him, unmarked, whole.

Ned strode forward briskly and shoved the other man hard at the shoulders.

Ned was dimly aware that Carson was standing up, but what infuriated him more was that Frank didn't raise his hands, didn't try to defend himself. He staggered back a step, but otherwise he looked almost serene.

Because Nancy was alive and she would heal. What did he care.

"Why don't we go outside," Frank said, and Ned glanced sharply at his face, but his expression was bland, unthreatening.

"I want to see her."

Frank shook his head. "She doesn't want to see you."

"I _need_ to _see her_," Ned repeated, shoving by Frank. The officer standing at the door of her room put his hand on his belt. Gun, taser, whatever, but his hand was on it, and he looked very alert.

"Ned, please," Carson said, and Ned turned around, almost quivering. "Give her some time. She needs some time. But she's all right."

"Because of sheer fucking _luck_," Ned retorted, flushing, and the nurse at the central desk snapped her head up, reaching for the phone. "Another inch and you'd be picking out fucking caskets and how is it that you are so fucking _calm about this_?" Ned's voice rose until most of the people in the waiting area were openly staring at him, and he didn't fucking care.

The door of her room opened, and Bess and George slipped out. "What's going on?" George asked. "She's trying to rest."

"I'm sure a _lot_ of people in here are trying to rest," Bess added, glaring at Ned.

Frank touched Ned's arm. Ned shrugged him off. "Outside," Frank repeated, evenly. "You can come with me now or you can go with the security officers who are undoubtedly on their way by now."

During the elevator ride, Ned paced the car as long as he was able. A woman in a wheelchair came aboard with her son and Ned shoved his fists into his pockets.

He was not going to strangle Frank as soon as they walked out. He was not.

He was probably not.

By the time they reached the space beside the parking lot, a grassy area turned orange in the glow of a streetlight, Ned's stomach was sour with anger, and God, he'd be lucky if he didn't open the wound on his leg—

Frank turned around and sucker punched him.

Ned's eyes widened as he swayed. He let himself fall forward and he grabbed Frank, tackling him to the relatively soft patch of ground. Ned pulled back and Frank caught him, rolling over. Ned felt a jolt of dark pleasure as Frank's head whipped back following his punch.

They struggled against each other like that, roughly, and Ned felt his anger grow and _grow._ This was the man who had taken her away. This was the man who had put her in danger.

"Sir. _Sir._ Get up."

They sprang apart. Frank's face was flushed a dull red, and Ned could see the marks of his knuckles there. As for Ned, his wound was stinging, burning, and his jaw ached. He was pretty sure he was going to have a black eye in the morning.

"This is private property. You can't do this here. Come on." The officer was reaching down, ready to haul them to their feet.

"We're—" Frank was gasping his breath back. "We're done, officer. I apologize."

The officer looked unconvinced. "Do either of you have weapons?"

They shook their heads. Ned was sure Frank had something on him, but he didn't quite feel like pushing it. Frank could definitely press charges, if he so chose. And Ned would press right back, if it came to that.

After a stern warning that if he had to return, they both _would_ be spending the night in lock-up, the cop left. Ned watched him go, his eyes narrowing.

"And if he goes inside, just walks very casually up to her room—"

Frank found a tissue in his pocket and wiped at his lip, wincing at the blood he saw there. "They're private security staff up there."

"Even easier to turn."

Frank looked up at him, very directly, and smiled. It actually reached his eyes.

"Look," Frank said. "You let her go."

Ned flushed angrily. "That doesn't mean I can't be concerned about how she's doing—"

Frank put the tissue away. "Okay," he said. "She's awake. She's going to be fine. See how easy that was?"

"What do you think I'm gonna do, if I see her?" Ned shook his head. "Like I could hurt her any more than you."

"Oh, you did," Frank replied. "You do. I didn't want you to be involved tonight. _She_ wanted you involved even less. Because you know what, Nickerson, you son of a bitch? She hates you. She hates the idea of you, she hates the thought of seeing you. So yeah. I do not, by any means, want you upstairs."

Ned shook his head. "You're lying."

"I'd take you upstairs and prove you wrong right now if that wouldn't upset her."

"And I'm just supposed to take your word for it."

Frank took out his phone. "Bess and George will back me up on this. Want me to call them down here?"

"I want to hear her say it."

"She won't." Frank shook his head. "She might not. I don't know. I don't know with her. I don't know what happened between you two when you were traveling, but whatever it was... that was it. If there's anything else, I'll get someone else to do it. I won't be calling you again. I shouldn't have called you now."

Ned ran a hand through his hair, angrily. "And you admit that you're just going to keep fucking doing this, just keep putting her in danger until—"

Frank tilted his head. "You were with her for _years_. _I_ am not going to put her in danger. But if she wants to do something, no, I'm not going to hold her back, the way you did. The way you always did. This is what we _do_, Ned, both of us. This is how we are. And for you to pretend that there was ever a way to keep her out of danger—all she has to do is walk out on the street and she's in danger. Be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"_Tonight_ was the wrong fucking place at the wrong fucking time?"

"_Tonight_ was _leverage_," Frank said, matching Ned's volume and tone. "They are _never_ going to fucking leave her alone unless we take care of it. Tonight we got all of Intoli's crew and three cops in the department. We get those cops to turn and we have them. She's _one_ person. We show them some bigger game and they forget about her."

"And this was the only way to do it."

"It was the quickest." Frank's eyes were blazing. "Don't act like she's a four-year-old. She's old enough to make her own decisions. And when you got back here she was adult enough to end this before you strung it out a while longer. And _yeah_, it was your decision to break up with her. Yeah. I know about that."

Ned's jaw tightened. "That was a mistake."

"No. No, it wasn't a mistake, and you know that." Frank crossed his arms. "It was going to happen, sooner or later. I'm surprised she put up with you as long as she did."

Ned clenched his fist. Frank looked down at it with a cold smile. "If you'd ever been in love you'd know why we put up with each other the way we did," Ned said angrily.

"I do love her," Frank said, his voice quiet, intense.

Ned had to fight to keep himself from punching the other man again. Punching him and never ever letting him get back up again. How dare he. How _dare_ he.

"And that's what you've been afraid of, isn't it," Frank said quietly, stepping forward. "That's why you left with her the fucking morning Joe and I were supposed to get there and take over. You've always been afraid of what was between us, and you should have been. She and I are _right_ for each other, and you know that. It's easy. It's _good_.

"And I will never, _never_ hurt her the way you did."

"I..."

Frank shook his head. "I don't care," he said. "You have no idea how much I want to drag you upstairs and let her tell you all this herself, but she still... I'm not going to put her through that. She's been through enough tonight."

"So you just expect me to walk away from her. From everything."

"Yeah," Frank said. "I didn't say it would be easy. I'd be surprised if it were ever easy to leave her. But you can't keep doing this. You can't run back to her when it's convenient—"

"You think it was convenient to be on the fucking _run_ with her? Afraid every time I heard something that it was the people coming after us?"

"And knowing that you weren't the best protection for her," Frank returned.

_Fuck._

"Look, you did a good job, okay? Is that what you want to hear? You did the best you could. You did as much as you could for her. And then you broke her heart. You had your time with her, and you gave her up, all by yourself. Now it's my turn." Frank stepped in close to him. "_Mine._ I stood aside for long enough. Now you go back to whoever's been keeping your bed warm, you find some girl and settle down with the picket fence and have your dream. Because you knew deep down she was never going to be part of it. She'd never be happy with that nine-to-five bullshit. And with me she can be happy. She can have what she wants and I'll be there to keep her safe.

"Go be happy. She will be."

"How can she be happy with _you_?" Ned retorted. "At least when she was with me she had someone who would step back every now and then. All you do is push her. With you it's all about the rush, the adrenaline, the next clue. You never fucking turn _off_. The two of you will just feed each other, and _you_ know that."

"And that will make her even better. Make _both_ of us even better."

Ned shook his head. "You're in love with her because you're in love with _you_," he said. "That's who she is. It can't work. So your dates will be stakeouts and your anniversaries will be whenever one of you is in the hospital long enough to slow down for a day. That's no way to live."

"And you'd have her in hiding the rest of her life. Afraid of her own shadow, just waiting for someone to come break down the door and rip her away from you."

Ned let out his breath in an angry huff. "Call Bess."

Frank rolled his eyes. "So you're really going to do this."

"Afraid of me calling your bluff?"

"Not in the least." Frank reached for his cell. "And after she comes downstairs and confirms what we've been talking about... go home, Ned. You being here is only going to upset her. It's not going to help."

Bess's expression, once she came down to meet them, was concerned, suspicious. "Frank?" she asked, and Ned's heart constricted, seeing one of Nancy's best friends treating Frank like he was one of them. "What did you need? Visiting hours are over soon."

"I've been trying to explain to Ned why going in to see Nancy would be a bad idea," Frank explained.

Bess turned to Ned. "It would," she said flatly. "Go home."

"Frank, can you leave us..."

Bess tossed her hair. "No, you don't have to. Look, Ned... you had your chance. You walked away. She—I can't even tell you how angry she is, how angry we all are. And I'm glad you were able to keep her safe, while she was..." Bess made a vague gesture. "In danger. But she and Frank..."

"Just make sense," Ned completed, flatly.

"Yeah," she agreed. "They just make sense. He loves her. And that's more than I can say for you."

"I do love her. I do."

"Then you wouldn't have walked away," Bess said, gazing steadily at him.

"Well, if I can't fucking see her..." Ned ground out. "They say she's okay?"

"She's fine. Mild concussion this time. A couple stitches." Bess's expression changed, and Ned saw there the worry he shared, the worry the two of them had always shared. Frank could be easy about it, but at least Bess would be there.

Yeah. An entire army couldn't hold Nancy back when she was determined to do something.

"And... other than the arm, she's okay. From before."

He looked carefully for any hint that either of them knew what he might be talking about, but he saw no recognition in their eyes. "The cast will come off soon," Bess nodded. "She doesn't... she doesn't really remember much."

"Well, she was out for most of it." Ned looked down, then glanced up, toward her window.

He had walked away. He had walked away from her, and he had let her walk away. Hadn't protested, hadn't taken a single step. For so much of the trip he had been resenting it, resenting the responsibility, the imposition—

And Ned hated Frank so much, for being what he couldn't for her.

Did she hate him?

Ned was afraid. He was afraid to reach out to her and feel what they had told him for himself. Afraid that if he did sneak into her room, that she would open her eyes—

_YOU LEFT ME. WHY DIDN'T YOU COME?_

Their debts were paid. That didn't mean she had really forgiven him, or that she ever could. And all he had ever done was hold her back.

"Tell her I'm glad she's okay," Ned murmured. "To take care of herself. To call me if she wants to get coffee sometime." His lips curved up in a bittersweet smile.

"She'll be fine." Frank extended a hand. Ned wanted to ignore it, but he swallowed his anger and shook the other man's hand.

"Take care, Ned."

Ned gave them a short nod and sucked in a breath. "If you let anything happen to her..."

Frank nodded, but Ned could tell Frank wasn't afraid of him. Frank wasn't afraid of anything. Ned had half-admired, half-feared it in Nancy. He hated it in Frank.

"If you let anything happen to her, I'll kill you," Ned said.

Frank's smile was almost indulgent. He turned around and walked inside, and Bess moved to follow.

"She's... she's happy? With him?"

Bess paused, turned on her heel to face him again, then nodded. "Yeah," she said softly, and she didn't seem to be lying. "He's... he's good for her."

Ned swallowed, turning away before Bess could see his eyes gleaming. "Good."


	18. Chapter 18

The search took longer than he wanted, but two months after the night of the shootout, Ned had a new job. His position was with a slightly older firm, more prosperous; his boss was easygoing, but had a tendency to put off making big decisions until his options were limited. The executive assistants liked to gossip in the hallways, and every Thursday one of the longer-standing ones, a jovial, matronly middle-aged woman, stocked the breakroom with store-bought cupcakes.

He focused on all the things he was able to do while he wasn't worrying about Nancy. Frank was taking good care of her. Ned got rid of his preset web search for her name. When he was out and noticed a girl with red-gold hair he didn't scrutinize her to see if she was Nancy. He stopped being nervous when he and his coworkers hit the bars; if he saw her, he was sure there would be no awkward confrontation. They would simply go their separate ways.

It was what he had wanted. He had just been confused for a little while. He'd let himself remember the way things used to be, but they were different now.

Frank would take care of her. She was good with Frank, and he was right for her. He was everything Ned couldn't be, to her.

Ned wanted her to be happy. He wanted her to be happy more than anything else, and if Frank made her happy, he would be happy for her.

He started imagining the scenarios again. He imagined hearing one day about their engagement, their wedding. Maybe, somehow, a baby.

And on nights when he was drunk, he thought about it, but he was never, never quite drunk enough to reach between them, to pick up that fragile thread between them and pull it taut. He was going to leave her alone. The thought of her angry at him—the thought of just his presence disturbing her was too much to bear.

He kept thinking that if he didn't try it, for long enough, it would fade. The feverdream of her voice in his head would become something that had never happened to him. He wouldn't keep feeling his way around it, tentative and blind, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Whatever did happen to her, Frank and Nancy could handle together.

Frank and Nancy.

One day the sound of their names together wouldn't feel like a sucker punch.

When his apartment building was sold and the rent set to go up, he found another place. He'd miss it—the location was good, the view wasn't terrible, his parking space was reasonable—but he didn't realize until he was walking out for the last time, what it was that he would really miss.

Nancy had actually taken time out of her schedule to help him move into that old apartment. She had tied her hair back in a messy ponytail and wore busted jeans and painted the walls with him, and he remembered the smudge of paint on her cheek, her grinning up at him. A fine dusting of freckles across her nose—the weather had just become warm enough for her to drive the Mustang with the top down. Pizza and beer on crates in front of the television set. The long lean lines of her, warm and breathing under him, when they had tangled together, losing themselves in long sweet kisses. He had had such plans for his bed, for her in it. But she had still been shy, reluctant, and he had respected that. He had known it would come, eventually.

But it never had, not the way he had imagined. Only in his dreams.

He closed the door behind him and locked it that last time.

He had been with her for so long. Now it was time to find out who he was without her.

* * *

Rachel Williford was quite literally the most gorgeous woman Ned had ever seen.

The conference was downtown at the fucking Hilton, so Ned didn't even get a voucher and a per-diem. He was attending the sessions in the first-floor ballroom, and on one of the longer days he grabbed lunch in the hotel pub. That was where he saw her, scrolling through her emails on her cell, picking her way through a gargantuan salad.

She spent a lot of time in Chicago, she told him, though she split between there and New York. She was giving a presentation on developments in latent evidence to local crime scene investigators. She had long ash-blonde hair and miles of leg, and that first night, she left him waiting while her eyes promised more.

She wore reading glasses and he loved the way she laughed. And when she said she was going to be with him on the weekends, she was. She actually was. The only thing that kept her away was getting snowed in at LaGuardia.

He was making her breakfast to eat in bed one Sunday morning when he looked down at the eggs he was scrambling, and he didn't know what it was, but he'd been feeling like he was on the edge for a few days now.

He loved Rachel. He did love her. In her lingerie—and she had exquisite taste in lingerie—she looked like a model; out of it, she looked like an adolescent fantasy. Things with her were uncomplicated. Their relationship was easy and usually angst-free.

He did love Rachel, in every sense of the word.

But he had realized—with her and every other girl, Anna and Cindy, Maura and Kristen—that he was never going to feel about any other woman the way he had felt about Nancy. He had made his peace with the fact that a part of him always would love Nancy.

He couldn't help wondering, though. If he was able to put Nancy behind him, fully, completely in his past, find closure, maybe he could make it work with Rachel.

"_Ned!_ Come on, I'm _starving!"_

"Coming right up!" Ned called back. At least Rachel wouldn't tease him about burning the burgers at the barbecue that one time. At least—

He had been as intimate with Rachel as two people generally could be. But he had never felt her inside his head. Not even a whisper.

Rachel grinned when he brought in the tray. "Best boyfriend in existence," she said, patting the comforter in front of her. "Come to mama."

She smacked his hand playfully when he snatched one of the pieces of bacon off her plate. "You gonna be in town next weekend?" he asked, crunching his way through it. "I thought we could do something fun."

"Something... 'fun'?" Rachel wiggled her eyebrows.

"Like... we could rent a Cessna."

"What is that...?"

"A small plane," he explained. "I have a license."

"Oh." She smiled at him. "I don't know, I don't really like heights that much."

"So that skydiving certificate I was going to give you for Christmas is out..."

She poked at his ribs. "We could go ride go-karts," she said hopefully.

"Sounds great," he nodded. "If the weather's nice. It's been ages since I've done that."

"You could invite your buddies, we could make a day of it." She crunched down on a bacon slice herself. "That fun enough for you?"

"Depends on what you're wearing when we get home," he teased her, and she giggled, her eyes gleaming.

* * *

He dreamed that he walked into the cabin, and Nancy was gone. The gun was on the floor where she had been sitting, and the snow was thick on the ground. The blood spot in front of the stove had faded some, but it was still there.

He walked into the bedroom, and he was back in his old apartment. The bed was draped in heavy canvas to catch the stray paint drops. He could hear the shower, and he knew she was in there.

When she walked out, she was wrapped in a towel, her hair dripping wet. She was no longer wearing her cast, but her arm was still wrapped in plastic.

_I don't want to dream about you._

But it wasn't true; he couldn't even say it. He couldn't say the lie. This version of her was all he had left.

"Are you real?"

She gazed steadily back at him. "Are you?"

He smiled, a little. "Yeah."

She looked down. Now she wore a white sundress, large red poppies printed on the skirt.

"Are you happy, Nan?"

Her tentative smile faltered. "Of course," she said.

"Of course?" he repeated.

"He hasn't hurt me," she said. "Not the way you did."

Ned woke with his face buried in Rachel's hair, both relieved and saddened that it had only been a dream.

* * *

Rachel's promotion came four months later. No more shuffling between Chicago and New York, the occasional weekend in Los Angeles or Miami. She would be at her home office in New York.

"My place is a little small, but we could find a bigger one," she told him. She was perched on the edge of his bed, in one of his button-downs. The cuffs covered the heels of her hands. Then she glanced up at him. "I mean... if you wanted to do that."

"Even if I'm only there for the weekends?"

"Yeah. I mean... you never know what the future will be."

With her, he could. Ned could see it. A picket fence, two girls and a boy. The reading glasses would become permanent and his pilot's license would lapse, and he would grow content. Not in love, not passionate, but content.

He visited her all of three times in New York. He loved the bustle of the city, climbing the steps to her walk-up with a bouquet of flowers in his hand, all of it. He loved the idea of loving Rachel, and he felt guilty, knowing that she loved him more than he would probably ever be able to love her.

"I think... we should see other people," he told her, feeling in it the echo of every mistake he had ever made. And this was a mistake, a damn mistake. He could be happy with her. Happy enough.

"Who is she? Who the _fuck_ is she?" Rachel demanded, her voice already going ugly with tears.

She didn't calm down, even after he explained that he wasn't seeing anyone else, just that their being apart so much meant they were being unfair to themselves, and...

And he heard it again, in his voice. He had hurt someone else so much, this way.

"We can still hang out."

"During those random trips you take here. Sure." She sniffled. "Ned... I love you. I love you so much. Tell me what it'll take to make you happy and I'll do it, I'll do whatever I can. Please." Her voice broke.

_You can't. You can't be her._

"I need some time to think," he told her. "I love you too, you know that. I love you. But we... if you meet someone else—someone _there_. I'll understand."

"I won't," she told him. "How could I? Ned, _please_—"

"Rachel—"

"Is it that you want me to move there? Is that what this is about—"

"Rachel!" Ned shook his head. "There's more. There's more out there for us. We both know that. And I don't want to take away your chance at happiness by being a selfish asshole."

"But you would be." She sucked in a breath hard to stave off a sob. "You'll see. You'll come crawling back to me when you find out there's no one else out there who will love you the way I do."

_Maybe._ "But you won't be waiting," he finished quietly.

"I'll always wait for you."

Ned closed his eyes. "Take care, Rache."

"I love you. I love you so much."

_I know._

* * *

He dreamed of her every night, for the next week. Dreamed of Rachel clinging to him, her face wet with tears. Dreamed of Frank holding Nancy back, sneering in Ned's face. Dreamed of Nancy telling him that she was happy now, that she had found her happy ending, that he should stay away from her. Let her go.

And, for a while, he thought maybe she was right.

But he just couldn't. He couldn't let her go.

Her cell phone number had changed. Her personal line at her father's house had been disconnected. The guard was still stationed outside their house, although Ned only spotted the one; apparently Frank's plan had worked, left her a little safer.

Ned had to know. He had to _know_ for sure, had to hear it from her lips. And once he knew, he could do what Frank had suggested. He could go back to Rachel, beg her on hands and knees to take him back, and he could live out his life with her and be content. Something close to happy. Maybe, eventually, something more.

If she was truly happy with Frank, Ned would let her go. For good this time.

* * *

It was simple enough. Maybe too simple.

He knew the girls were planning on going out; Facebook stalking them told him that. He didn't follow Nancy; instead, he followed Bess, the least likely of them to spot a tail.

The club was new and trendy, hot enough that a line had formed at the door. Nancy, Bess, George, and Frank managed to bypass it. Ned had to wait, the entire time afraid that she would leave with them, that he would lose his chance.

A dance floor was perfect. Absolutely perfect for what he wanted to do.

His palms kept growing damp. His heart was speeding wildly in his chest. He tried his best to keep himself calm, though, keep from alarming her.

The club was dark and smoky, a strobe light catching the dancers mid-move, creating tableaus of couples pressed close, gleaming with sweat, loose with alcohol and desire.

Ned moved quickly, hoping to find an opening before he was spotted and thrown out. He took in the scene at a glance. George and Bess were at the bar. Nancy and Frank were on the dance floor. She wore a tight honey-colored wrap dress. She had bangs now, and her arm was no longer in the cast. The way she grinned at Frank made Ned nauseated.

But he had to know.

What if it had faded, just like he had imagined it would? It had been so many months.

Ned moved beside them, and when a bit of space opened up between Nancy and Frank, Ned managed to reach over. Nancy was just glancing up and over toward Ned, her eyes widening, when they touched.

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, his other hand against her cheek.

And oh, oh _God_, the overwhelming, intoxicating sensation broke through all of it, his anxiety and fear, and the world spiraled down to just them alone.

_I'm sorry._ Ned held her gaze and nothing, absolutely nothing, was able to touch this, not his awareness of Frank's growing anger, not anyone else in the room, nothing. _I'm so sorry, Nancy. I should have run after you—I wanted to run after you. I wanted to tell you that I love you. That I will never love anyone the way I love you, and I've tried. I have tried._

_And what I feel for you—it scares the shit out of me. I _crave_ you, Nan. This. All of this. And we—how is this possible, how is it possible that you and I can do _this_ and we're not together—_

And he knew, without asking, that she did not have this connection with Frank. That he was the only one who had ever been able to do this with her. That she knew everything he was trying to say, that he was lain bare to her.

_I—I know you hate me. I don't blame you. I'm so sorry that I ever hurt you. I'm sorry I was a selfish arrogant asshole who thought that what you were doing wasn't worth my time. You—all of you, every part of you, everything you want—is what should be important to me. If all you want is friendship, I understand. If you don't even want that—I'll accept that. I just need to hear you say it. Because I want you to be happy, and I owe you that—_

Nancy pulled back a little, her eyes blazing. _If it's that you owe me—_

_It's not. It's not. You don't understand. I'm going to love you every minute of every day for the rest of my life. Even if I never see you again, even if you send me away and tell me you never want to see me again, it will be true._

_But you—_

_I thought I could end it,_ he told her. _I thought that with enough time and space and other people, I could fill in what you are to me. I could save myself the pain of losing you._

_But every single fucking day I feel it again, how _wrong_ it is for us to be apart after all we had, all we were to each other. And I don't want to waste another second. If I can be with you, then I have to take that chance. Oh, it won't be easy. I know that. But I can't do this anymore. I can't tell myself that just because something terrible might happen one day, that's going to make all this worthless. Nothing about you is worthless._

_And you said—you said we're better apart, but Nan... I don't like who I am without you. I'm better with you. You and I—we're two sides of the same coin, and..._

He looked down for a second. _I will do anything you ask to make you happy,_ he told her. _Anything. If you tell me to kiss your feet, I will. If you tell me to always stay by your side, I will. If you tell me to get out of here and leave you alone for the rest of your life, I will. You just have to say it._

Slowly he released her and felt the headache begin to pulse hard behind his eyes. She blinked at him for a second. She was feeling the pain of their parting too.

And her eyes were swimming, her face flushed.

She sucked in a breath and _screamed_, her hands in fists at her sides. "_Get out!" _she cried out, and around them the dancing couples stopped, staring. "_Get out!"_

Frank reached for Ned's arm, grabbing it hard. "What did I fucking tell you," Frank said, dragging him toward the door, as Bess and George tried to comfort Nancy. "You approach her again and I'll break your arm. Stay the hell away from her."

He could still feel it. Her pain and fear and anger prickled over him.

He left without looking back, unseeing, aching, broken all over again.

* * *

He couldn't bring himself to call Rachel, knowing she was his second choice. Not yet. Not without giving her a chance to cool down after their last conversation. He would do it right this time. He would fly up there, meet her, apologize. Push down all his doubts and misgivings and make it work with her. Look for jobs in the city.

A new city, a new life that wasn't full of memories, things he would rather forget, things he never would.

He tidied up his apartment that Saturday afternoon. It had been two weeks since he had made an utter fool of himself in front of Nancy, and it still hurt, but at least now he knew. At least he had tried.

_READY FOR THE GAME?_

Ned snickered at the text message. _Be there soon_, he replied, then headed for his bedroom. He had pulled on a pair of jeans and was just rummaging through his closet when the doorbell rang. Well, Ryan was early.

"Just a minute," Ned called, striding through the apartment, still shirtless. He opened the door for Ryan with a smile. "Almost rea—"

Ryan wasn't standing there.

Nancy was.

The smile slipped off Ned's face. He just kept gazing at her. She wore a pair of faded tattered jeans and a grey t-shirt, her hair pulled back off her face, those new bangs. Flip-flops.

Her blue eyes were so wide, red and wet, as they met his.

Wordlessly Ned moved back, to let her in, but she just stood there, gazing at him. And God, he ached to just pull her into his arms, to hold her there.

She tipped her head to the side, slightly, and he could feel her trembling. Unsure.

_If I touch you..._ He couldn't speak, but he knew she could hear him. _Baby, if I ever hold you again, I will never be able to let you go. Not ever._

She released a long, long breath, then took a single step forward, crossing his threshold. Their gazes still locked, she raised her hand, palm out, toward him.

And their hands touched.

And he was _home_.


	19. Epilogue

**This chapter contains an adult situation, although it has been edited down from the original version. It's not very explicit. For those of you who have been following this story, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it.**

* * *

Nancy had almost turned back, so many times. She had tried figuring it out, how the conversation would go with Frank, but actually saying the words _I think I want to be friends with Ned again_—oh, the words would not pass her lips.

She had been so, so afraid of being anywhere near him again, afraid of what she would do, afraid she would beg him to reconsider and take her back. She had told Bess and George and yes, Frank, so many times, that she hated Ned, and it was true. She hated him. She hated him for not saving her, but she knew, because she had seen into the heart of him, that the knowledge of his failure, the guilt of it, had eaten him alive.

She had lost herself, when he had broken up with her that cold night at Emerson. She had lost herself when he told her that things weren't working, that they hadn't been for a while, that they needed to be free—that _he_ needed to be free.

He had believed it. He had believed that it was for the best. Death or other desires would part them eventually, and when it came to her, he couldn't bear it. Somehow, by some twisted logic, he loved her too much to let it end that way.

_Let it happen now. If it must be, let it happen now._

And she had made herself believe it too. She had rent her heart in two and left the better half with him, forced herself to walk away, and given herself insurance. She had deleted his contact information, told her friends not to let her call him, that just the thought of him made her insane with anger, and it hadn't been a lie. He had taken all they had been to each other and dismissed it so easily; even with the breathing beating thread of that strange connection between them, he had been ready to leave her.

It would be easier with someone else. Easier with anyone else.

She had thrown herself into the relationship with Frank with a defiant zeal. For so long she had told herself she couldn't act on the mutual attraction between them, and every kiss she shared with Frank, every caress, was another step away from Ned, from the raw wound his rejection had left inside her. She told herself that Frank was everything she wanted, and part of her actually believed it was true. They were one mind, one indomitable will, and he felt almost like an extension of herself.

But he wasn't. Because she had found that. She had found her counterpart, and _she_ had let him go. And no matter how grimly, how intently she focused on what she had with Frank, his love never made her forget what she had lost.

He would hurt her again. She had to believe that. Ned would hurt her again. Again and again and again. It would never work, no matter how hard she wanted to believe it, no matter how many nights she cried herself to sleep. Frank took her to his bed, knew her as no one else ever had, as Ned had wanted and she had reluctantly denied, and _still_, in the back of her mind, she could remember that night in the cabin with Ned, the tingle that shot up her spine when he had pushed her pants down, when everything inside her had told her to wrap herself around him and never let him go. She had given up her chance. She would never have it again.

Oh, _God_, she wished she didn't know what she had lost.

How could Ned love her if he could hurt her like that, so easily.

He couldn't.

She told herself that he never had.

And then he had come to her. Their skin had touched again and all that had been between them, all that she had been trying to forget, was alight again. He had lain himself open to her, let her see all that was within him, swore that he would do everything in his power to make it right again.

But she couldn't do it. She had told herself over and over that, when faced with this choice, if ever she would be, she would have to be strong. He would hurt her again. He would. Regardless of what he said or did, she wasn't good enough for him, she could _not_ change herself for him, and it would take hours or days or years but he would leave again and take all of her with him. When she screamed at him, it took everything in her to do it, to shove him away from her.

She loved him. God, she loved him so much. When Frank held her, asked her if she was all right, kissed her tears away, oh, they were genuine. She sobbed like her heart was breaking because it was, again. Like it would every time she saw him again.

She never, ever, _ever_ wanted to see him again. And it was all she wanted. She walked through her days seeing his face again, her skin tingling where he had touched her, wishing with all her heart that what he had said was true. Things could be different.

She loved Frank. She did. She always had.

What she felt for Ned was so far beyond that. She couldn't imagine going the rest of her life without ever seeing him again, even though the thought of seeing him filled her with pain. She had learned _Ned_, fallen in love with _Ned_ for the first time, and, she feared, the only time. No one else could ever see into her so clearly or cut into her so deeply as he did.

_how is this possible, how is it possible that you and I can do _this_ and we're not together—_

And she told herself, while she found his new address, her hands trembling, that she shouldn't. The girl Nancy had seen with Ned in her dreams, she knew on some level, was the girl he was seeing. The girl he would settle for and marry if she left him to himself, the girl he could bring himself to love. He didn't _need_ her.

But oh, she wanted to believe that he did, that he needed her as much as she needed him.

If she walked in and found her there... she would leave again. Leave him forever.

She had almost turned back, so many times.

Then he had been standing in front of her, barechested, a grin fading on his handsome face—

_If I touch you..._ _baby, if I ever hold you again, I will never be able to let you go. Not ever._

She had raised her palm to him, and they touched, and she closed her eyes.

_Never let me go._

* * *

She lost count of the number of times they fought, those first six months. Seeing into each other the way they could meant that when she was angry, a single touch gave her an infinite amount of ammunition, and the same went for him. Every doubt he felt, every flash of annoyance, every irritation, she knew. She knew when he thought to himself miserably that what Frank had said was true, that she was better off with him instead of Ned.

That night she had taken his laptop off his lap and slid on, wrapped her arms around him, touched her forehead to his, and let the euphoria wash over them both.

_I thought he was what I wanted. I thought he was everything I needed that you weren't, and baby... as crazy as you drive me sometimes, you're what I want, what I've always wanted. I need the voice of reason, the person who will make me pull back and consider all the angles, the guy who cares so much about me that he's furious when I'm hurt._ She smiled.

And God, she _knew_. She knew the roaring panic that had swept over him every time he had seen her injured, bruised and broken. His fear that she would never wake up, when she had been caught in that twilight after the terrible beating.

_I always thought you hated when I was protective._

_Part of me did. It was like you didn't trust me. But that's not what it is, at all._

Ned shook his head, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. _I'll lose myself, if I lose you again._

They didn't tell anyone about it, the strange connection between them. She had no idea what the hell she would say, and at her checkups the doctor always said her test results were perfect. Gradually she spent more and more time at his place, in his bed, in his arms, and the euphoria that had scared her so much—when they approached that line and pulled back, pulled apart, they ached, like addicts going through instant withdrawal. She was afraid that if she and Ned did take that step, if he made love to her, they would have migraines for three straight days.

But it would feel amazing, in the process.

* * *

"I swear, Dad, if you make me late for dinner with Ned—"

"I won't, I promise. I just need to run an idea by you."

Nancy sighed, glancing at her watch as she merged onto the highway. "And you can't do it over the phone?"

"I'm sorry, I can't. I wish I could. You'll just be in and out. And have I mentioned what a great daughter you are?"

Nancy chuckled. "I'm your only daughter," she sighed.

While she hadn't officially moved in with Ned, she was only at her father's house for a night every other week or so. Her father had been quicker to accept her decision to date Ned again than her friends had been, but she understood their reluctance. She had tried so hard to burn her bridges; she had been too successful. Bess, George, Frank had done their best to convince her she was making a terrible decision, especially Frank—and she had hated hurting him, but she couldn't explain. They had seen Ned grab her and stare into her eyes, without speaking a word. They had no idea what had passed between them, what the simple brush of his fingertips against hers could do.

On the last case she had worked with him, a few weeks ago, Frank had limited his snarky comments to a handful, and for that, she was glad.

Frank had taken her virginity. He had been as close to her as a man could be to a woman, and he felt a certain superiority when it came to Ned. She could see it on his face. He thought that no matter what, he had a part of her that Ned could never have.

He didn't understand that just sleeping fully clothed beside Ned was more intimate for her than anything she had ever done with Frank.

Nancy shook her head, dismissing those thoughts as she parked at her father's house. The lawn of the Masters' house was clogged with cars; Nikki must be having another party.

The guard parked behind her. His presence made her father feel safe, made Ned feel safe. Intellectually she balked against it; emotionally, she couldn't help thinking that a bodyguard might have kept her from being so easily captured. She didn't entirely hate his being there.

Nancy glanced down at her outfit. She wore a strapless red chiffon cocktail dress and spiked heels. Ned had told her that their night would involve dinner and dancing, and she couldn't wait to see the look on his face when he saw her. She adjusted her top, then opened the front door, hoping her father wouldn't make some overly protective comment about what she was wearing. "It's—" she began to call.

Then she saw the group gathered in her father's living room.

"Surprise!" they shouted, and she laughed.

They were there, all of them, all her friends. Bess and George were there, Frank and Joe, her aunt Eloise. Hannah and her father, of course. Classmates and so many people she had known over the years.

And Ned. Ned, standing among those people who hated him for what he had done to her, who had no idea what had happened between them. He raised his glass in a toast, and he only had eyes for her.

_Surprise, Nan._

_I can't believe you managed to keep this secret!_

_It was tough, believe me._ His eyes sparkled.

Her father had arranged to have a dance floor put out in the back garden, complete with a DJ. After Hannah brought out her cake, the surface a sea of flickering candles, they headed outside.

She slipped her arms up around Ned's neck and he wrapped his arms around her waist, and they swayed together, their gazes locked, smiling faintly.

_You look amazing._

_You don't look so bad yourself._ Her boyfriend wore a pair of tailored pants and a crisp grey button-down. She brushed her fingertips against the nape of his neck, and he shivered, just a little.

_Thank you, for keeping this a surprise._ She smiled. _I love you, baby. So much._

Ned's eyes were dark and intense, and she was so damn aware of him. _I love you too._

During the next dance he went inside to get her a cup of soda, and that was when she saw Frank. He offered her his hand and she considered for a moment, then nodded.

"Happy birthday, Nan."

"Thank you," she said politely, keeping a few inches of space between them. "Thanks for coming. I can't believe you guys pulled this off."

"Me either," Frank admitted. "Nan... he's got a lot of guts, to show himself here with us."

She shook her head. "I'm glad he's here," she said. "I know what I said before, but I was angry. And I'm glad all of you are doing your best to... to be polite."

Frank chuckled. "We are," he said. "But... I want you to know, Nan, that if he hurts you again? _Ever_ again? Just tell me, and I will end him."

Her lips curved up in a small, barely humorous smile. "I don't deserve such loyal friends," she murmured.

"And he doesn't deserve you."

That was when Ned tapped him on the shoulder. "Mind if I cut in?"

"I do," Frank said. "But she's the birthday girl, so she gets what she wants. Have a great birthday, Nan."

"Thanks," she said again, accepting the cup of soda Ned handed her. She swallowed half of it in one long gulp.

_I seem to remember I was promised dancing._

_Well, that and dinner... if cake counts as dinner._

_Two out of three isn't too bad._

_Two? I count one._

_I was counting what you've got on under that dress._

Nancy made a face at him. "Oh, so you can keep secrets, but I can't."

Ned put her cup down on a nearby table and swept her up into his arms. "You can't," he confirmed, his lips brushing her neck. _Not from me._

They stumbled into the apartment together near midnight, flushed and giggling. The night had gone well, considering. Bess and George had been friendly toward Ned. Frank hadn't stayed for very long, but at least a fight hadn't broken out.

They had held hands the entire way up to his door, and by the time he keyed inside, she was already tingling in anticipation. She tossed her purse onto the couch and Ned trapped her between him and the door, unzipping her dress, letting it pool at her feet. She slipped her arms up around his neck, leaving her dress there; she was going to have to take it to be cleaned anyway.

_Happy birthday, Nan._

_It's not my birthday yet,_ she reminded him as he leaned down, brushing his lips against hers.

_Well, isn't that a shame. Guess I'll have to give you your present early..._

_Oh. Will you._

_Yeah._ She ran her fingers through his hair as he deepened the kiss, the tip of his tongue moving against hers. _If you're interested._

_Depends. Will I like it?_

He picked her up and carried her with him to his bedroom. She felt energized, sensitive, euphoric at the touch of his skin against hers, and he loved the way she looked, and _that_ made her feel sexy as hell.

_I think so. I sure as hell will._

He kept one hand on her—maintaining contact was the key, they had found—and let his gaze slide down her body. _You look incredible._

_Got any surprises under there for me?_ she asked saucily, one eyebrow cocked.

_Well, there is _one_..._

She unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, and he unfastened and stepped out of his pants. Together they slid onto the bed, twining around each other, always touching, ever touching. They kissed until their lips were swelled and sensitive, and then he began to kiss his way down.

She grasped his undershirt and pulled it up, moaning. Oh _God_, when they were this close she never wanted it to stop. Once his shirt came off she ran her fingertips down his back, arching, pulling him back up to her.

They rolled over, and when he began to push her panties down, she took her bra off. His underwear followed, and she sighed, arching as he ran his palms up and down her back.

Oh _God_, it felt amazing. Every single time, it felt so fucking amazing, to be so close to him. She leaned down to kiss him again, and when they were like this, there were no questions, there was no uncertainty. They knew what they wanted.

She wanted it. Fuck it all. She didn't care if she was in bed with a migraine for the next three days, the next three _weeks_. She wanted him.

"I know," he said, and he was smiling when she opened her eyes.

He knew she had been with Frank. She knew that he had been ready to explode for want of her since they first time they had tumbled into his bed, after.

They might have been with other people, they _had_ been with other people, but it didn't matter. They were each other's only, and she felt like a virgin again.

They scrambled to each other, and she wrapped herself around him tight, their mouths meeting in rough desperate kisses. She shivered against him.

_I love you. I love you so much, Nan._

She was flushing, and when he touched her, her mouth fell open. "Oh, _Ned_..." _I love you oh God I love you so much oh _God

"_Fuck_," Ned gasped out, sliding his arms around her and holding her close to him after. "Oh my _God._"

"Yeah," she whispered, resting her head against his shoulder. She kissed the side of his neck, tasting his sweat. "Oh my God."

_It's never been like that..._

_I know. For me either._

She didn't want to let him go. She never wanted to let him go.

He nuzzled against her, kissing the point of her jaw, her earlobe. "I love you," he murmured. "I love you so much, baby."

"And I love you," she whispered, capturing his mouth with hers. He let himself fall back onto the bed, his hands buried in her hair, and they made out lazily, slowly. She didn't want to let him go, didn't want the pain, but she had to.

She moved back, slipped off the bed—

And when they weren't in contact, she could feel it, but the pounding, splitting headache she had been expecting was reduced to a soft warm throbbing in her head.

She returned to him, and they slipped under the covers together, naked, moving easily into each other's arms.

"Thank you," she whispered. _For waiting so long._

Ned smiled and smoothed her hair back. _Thank you,_ he returned. _For waiting so long._

He had seen it, with Rachel. The white picket fence, the children. The life he'd wanted, that he'd never been able to see with her. The life Frank had told him she would never settle for.

But with Ned, it wouldn't be settling. Not at all. It would be perfect.

Ned stroked his fingertips down the side of her face. "We don't... have to rush into anything," he said softly.

"And we won't," she replied. _But I want that. I want it with you._

He rolled over onto her, pinning her under him, and gazed steadily into her eyes. _You do._

She ran her fingers through his hair, and nodded.

He couldn't smile, but she could feel it inside him.

She pressed her lips to his, softly. _You are my home, Ned,_ she told him. _You always have been. You always will be. And it won't be easy..._

_You're my home too, Nan._ His brown eyes were dark as they searched hers. _You are everything._

She smiled, then nuzzled against his chest, feeling his heart beat against her.

_You're mine too,_ she said. "You're my everything too."


End file.
